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Tom smirked. "That is very true. But the fact is, Hermione and I put a charm upon a different part of our lives this time. We’re marrying in a month, Fawley. And while I have personal confirmation that a person can use Beltane magic for something else, the holiday itself... well, our druid ancestors meant the ritual to be about that." He eyed Fawley and the other boys. "It wouldn’t have been appropriate for us to be present at your fire... unless your fiancées were also there, those of you who are engaged? I assume not, though."
"I asked Daphne," Marcus Flint groused, "and she wanted to come—she is fully in support of us—but she said she needed to keep an eye on her sister."
Hermione’s ears pricked up. "Is Draco Malfoy still pursuing Astoria Greengrass?"
Flint scowled at the ground. "According to her, he’s been emboldened by the end of his betrothal with Lest—Lady Adelaide, and the fact that they haven’t found a new witch for him yet. Daphne is afraid they will try to elope as soon as Malfoy finishes his schooling, which should be next year, like the rest of us. Except yourself and Lord Thomas," he added.
Tom considered this. "In a year, things may be very different. Frankly, haven’t we all intended that the Malfoy family should be deposed? If Lord Lucius does not rule anything except Malfoy Manor—or Godric’s Hollow—then what does it matter if they marry? Of course," he reconsidered, "it could be dangerous for them to talk and conspire while a war is ongoing, in the meantime, so I think she is right to try to prevent it."
Flint nodded. "You say that in a year, things may be different. You expect that it will happen that soon?" He sounded worried, and the other four looked concerned as well. "We’ll still be at Hogwarts!"
Tom took Hermione’s arm, pulled her close to him, and stared out grimly. "My lady mother and my stepfather expect that Malfoy—Armand Malfoy—and Lestrange will try to attack soon after our wedding. Hermione feared that the ceremony itself would be targeted, which makes perfect sense... but we mean to prevent that. Apparently, Malfoy never wanted to admit Lady Hermione to Hogwarts at all and never got over the "humiliation’ that a noble family actually took advantage of the loophole that he himself left in wizarding law at the time."
"A loophole that he has since eliminated," muttered Wilkes.
Tom nodded, his brows descending in irritation at that memory. "Yes. Among the many vile "laws’ that he created over the past four years was one that would end that possibility for anyone who came after Hermione. And with the two members of the former Wizards’ Council who could restrain him now dead, he and Lestrange will continue their offenses. Yes, I think a wizarding war is going to break out this summer," he concluded darkly. "So do your parents. That is why they allied with my mother. If we’re right... then Hogwarts may be closed to pupils while it rages on."
The five young wizards stared ahead. "Then Daphne is definitely right to keep an eye on her sister," Flint said.
Wilkes nodded firmly. "It is a good thing that we are all from titled families that have libraries of magic. I feel bad for the common students if the school closes."
Hermione gazed at the young man with surprise. So, she noted, did Tom. "It would be unfortunate," she said, "but at least everyone could return as soon as the danger ended."
"And as for that danger," Tom said, "my mother’s plan is to move Slytherin’s serpent—yes, I found it," he said as the five boys collectively gasped, "and I don’t want to discuss that any further." He squeezed Hermione. "The plan is to move it to Parselhall... well, more accurately, to a vault far below Parselhall that’s carved into the hillside. My royal ancestor housed a dragon in it, long ago... but again, I’ll say no more about that. It is an unpleasant topic. We already have very powerful wards on the castle, and I would recommend that your families all do the same. My mother has written to me, and my family and I agree that Lestrange should be killed first, if possible. It would leave Malfoy vulnerable. We should attempt to take his fief even before that. He has left a regent in charge of it, Carrow, in fact, the traitor, because Malfoy has Lestrange waiting on him like a servant in that demeaning Norman custom for nobles."
The boys scoffed derisively at that.
"After that... we shall see."
"You did not tell them about your theory regarding Malfoy, or about what you discovered from Weasley," Hermione said to him after they were alone again inside the castle.
Tom gazed at her. "I can’t prove my theory about Malfoy. It’s just a hunch. Of course, I did have some Gaunt ancestors who had the gift of Divination... their powers of insight were very good... but I have no evidence. And as for Weasley’s plot, I have not heard back from my mother about how Lord Regulus took it. His family would have a better idea of how to deal with the Muggle crown, since Arcturus sat on the Wizards’ Council. It’s better not to tell them about that until we have an idea of what to do about it." He scowled, turning his head to stare past her. "There is an obvious choice, but I don’t think any of us want blood on our hands unless it is the blood of traitors, murderers, and rapists. And the Weasleys, though contemptible, are not that." He sighed. "We’ll have to think of something else."
"Well, I am glad that killing an entire family over a scheme you dislike is not something you want to do," Hermione said tartly. "We would be no better than our enemies."
Tom turned to her at once, his dark eyes wide. "No! I wouldn’t do that. I think we need to consolidate power and influence among wizarding nobles, and then present ourselves as the choice of the magical population. The Weasleys have made their alliances in secret, with only James Potter and perhaps a few others aware. The Muggle king would surely respect a demonstration of political power over a secret promise. And if it comes to it," he concluded, "we could use the Imperius Curse and mind magic on the Muggle king to change his mind."
Four years ago, Hermione would have been appalled at that suggestion. Now, she considered it a reasonable possible solution to a thorny problem.
Four weeks later.
The pupils who would be acclaimed as masters lined up in the Great Hall, dressed in their best robes. Those who were from noble or knighted families wore their family crests somewhere on their persons. Hermione fingered hers as she stood beside Tom. Her family’s heraldic animal was the otter. She had generally avoided wearing it since she came to Hogwarts, since it had been clear to her from literally the first evening in Slytherin House that Muggle nobility meant nothing to wizard nobles. However, with only a few more days remaining of being a Granger, she decided that this was the occasion to wear it.
Their alliance had changed minds, she thought. Not many, but some. Tom’s own friends had been perfectly polite to her at the final Lords of Beltane meeting that she had attended. Their families had entered into alliances with Lady Merope without making any inappropriate demands or even criticizing the betrothal. The Black family, of all people, had accepted the idea at long last, to the extent of seeking an alliance with Tom’s future heir. I understand exactly why Lord Malfoy did not want me to come, she thought smugly. He did not want his precious nobles to have to deal with someone like me. He knew that the minds of some of them would change if they did. She reached for Tom’s hand and squeezed it, knowing that the gesture was concealed by their wide trumpet sleeves, but in truth, she did not much care if the whole school saw it.
The many pupils who were not finishing were standing in respect to those who were. To Hermione’s surprise, she felt tears come to the corners of her eyes as she met the faces of Harry, Luna, Neville, and Ginevra Weasley. Harry would finish next year, at least—or so she hoped. It would be ideal if they could quickly take out Lestrange, Malfoy, and their toadying vassals this summer with a minimum of fighting, so that the school could continue uninterrupted. If so, Harry would finish in five years as Tom had done—as she herself likely would have done if she had not been estranged from Tom for half of her time here, leaving her with a motive to study obsessively. The others would not be long in following Harry. They will be fine, she thought. Friendships can last a lifetime, but we ultimately do not live with our friends, usually. We live with our families. And I’ll see Harry and Luna, at least, in a few days anyway. They had accepted her invitations to the wedding. Neville had wanted to come, but his parents had supposedly needed him in Hogsmeade—and Ginny knew that her mother would not permit it.
The professors lined up. Slughorn was dressed in heavy green robes, and Hermione was quite sure it was not her imagination that he gave her and Tom particularly significant looks as he passed by the new masters of magic. High Master Dumbledore ascended to the podium at the head of the Great Hall and gazed out. He began to speak.
"Tonight, this twenty-ninth day of the month of May, Anno Domini eleven hundred forty-seven, we gather here to recognize those scholars who, after years of study, are now acclaimed masters in the art of magic."
A thrill went up and down Hermione’s body, and although she had meant to remain solemn and staid, a smile burst onto her face at these words. I am a master of magic, she thought, holding her wand aloft. He has declared it with the power of his word. Nothing can ever take that away. Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange can never take this from me.
Tom squeezed her available hand and they exchanged quick, proud glances. They had long awaited this night, and at last it had come. Hermione was so glad that they could really, truly share it, now that it had.
Hermione’s parents came to Parselhall the day after she and Tom left Hogwarts. It was strange seeing them again, she thought as she greeted them beside Merope, Severus, and Tom. They had been out of her life for so long. Her mother had more grey in her hair than Hermione remembered the last time she had seen them.
Their presence at the castle meant that Hermione was unwilling to spend the night with Tom again until their wedding night. She knew that no real harm would come of it even if her parents caught them, but it would cause needless embarrassment. It was not a huge sacrifice, being only a few days.
She was more surprised to see Lady Merope’s present condition. Although she was only six months with child, the fact that she was having twins meant that she looked much farther along. This could not be hidden, Hermione thought with some dismay. There were magical glamour charms, but it was possible to detect their presence. Every guest would see Merope’s condition, and from there, the news would spread.
Hermione sighed as she thought of this. She had felt foolish about it at the time, but when she had her monthly cycle about a week ago, it had made her sad. She had really thought that being intimate with Tom on Beltane, next to a Beltane fire, would result in a pregnancy, and after Tom’s assurance that night, she had come to welcome the idea. It was a disappointment to bleed, for once. I was taking the potion, she thought, but still... my mother had trouble conceiving... and so did women on my father’s side of the family. I will give it time... I will take the fertility potion now... but it would be unfair, in a way, for a thirty-five-year-old woman who experienced a damaging childbirth to have twins, while a healthy sixteen-year-old has difficulty.
Lady Merope had decided to tell Lord and Lady Granger only a part of the truth about the current danger, so they knew that the Wizards’ Council had been reduced to Armand Malfoy and Rodolphus Lestrange, and they knew that those two men and their vassals were very displeased that the wedding was actually going to take place. They did not know the true reason that Merope had wedded Snape. They certainly did not know that the young man their daughter would marry was a kinslayer. With an explanation of the circumstances, Lord Granger might understand, but it was still a topic that they all deemed better to avoid.
The same was true for several topics of a magical nature. At the head of that list was the Chamber of Slytherin, of course—but Hermione also had no particular desire to inform her family that their adversary was probably under a self-imposed, unbreakable curse that came from drinking the blood of an innocent creature, nor did she intend to mention the fact that witches and wizards could literally divide their souls and encase them in objects. These were issues that Muggles could not help them with, in any case.
Hermione noticed that her father was visibly frustrated about something, but that he did not seem inclined to talk about it. She managed to corner her mother the night before the wedding—or, rather, her mother came to her to have a mother-daughter talk about the momentous occasion. For all the distance that had opened up between her and her parents over four years, Hermione felt a flood of affection for her mother at this gesture.
In Hermione’s bedchamber—the last night she would sleep in it—they gazed at the gown that she would wear the following day. It was two shades of green, a dark green outer robe and a leaf green inner one, with Celtic knots in the same leaf green attached to the edges of the outer shell, and little flowers picked out in gold next to these decorations. Although not unheard of among Muggles either, green wedding robes were a wizarding custom, she had learned; the color symbolized fertility. The sleeves were almost obscenely wide, a flagrant display of luxury, but Hermione supposed that one’s wedding day was an appropriate occasion for that. She would also wear a belt of rich brown silken cord, loosely knotted in front. She had decided to put on the opal necklace that Tom had given her for her birthday during their first year at Hogwarts.
"You will be a lovely bride," Lady Granger said kindly, putting an elegant hand on Hermione’s shoulder.
Hermione met her mother’s eyes and managed a smile. "Yes," she said quietly, "I suppose so. And I thank you."
"He has been very devoted to you," the older woman said. "I have made a point of observing it since your lord father and I arrived. I assume, then, that the two of you resolved your difficulties."
"Yes," Hermione said, the weak smile blossoming into a broad one. "We have been devoted again for the past six months. We care very much about each other, after all this time."
"I am glad to hear it. It is what I hoped for, four years ago. This is why we wanted you to have a long betrothal and for it to begin with friendship. It’s of course paramount to secure a good match and an alliance that will provide mutual benefit, but we knew that we also wanted you and your future husband to be fond of each other." She gazed at the wedding gown with satisfied pleasure. "And I am glad to see, as well, that her ladyship has established herself as a noblewoman and has strong alliances with others. I know that she is worried about enemies, but that is just a fact of life for people of our class. In fact... I think that nobles with magic have it easier. She explained to me how she has sealed this castle against invaders. We cannot do that."
Hermione had not thought about it from that point of view in a long time, but she realized that it was true. For all their fears and worries, Lady Merope, Lord Severus, Tom, and their allies had a distinct advantage over those whose security had to be based purely on the physical strength of a fortress and clever situating of its defenses.
"I noticed that Father was worried about something," Hermione ventured. "Is everything all right at Castle Grange?"
Lady Granger pursed her lips. "Everything is well," she said. "Your cousin Charles has complained about the size of your dowry and the fact that the Riddles are not a family with whom the Grangers have ever allied in any respect, marital, defensive, trade, anything." Hermione’s eyes grew wide in protest, and her mother quickly continued. "Don’t worry, my dear! Your father has put him in his place. It is likely that he wanted more money for himself one day when he inherits the title. The transaction has already been made, so it is quite safe. As for his other objection... your father explained to him that we made the arrangement because of your magical ability, but I don’t think your cousin likes magic."
Hermione’s heart sank at that. "What do you mean?" she exclaimed. She thought of her childhood, of meeting her first cousins—double first cousins—for family events. They had always gotten on well... but then, that was before she knew what her abilities were.
"He seemed frightened of it when your lord father explained what it was. That is understandable, I suppose, from his perspective... it was startling for your father and me to learn of it four years ago... but he also suggested that he did not think people of magic should be in the nobility."
Hermione’s face hardened. "That is unfortunate for him, then," she said icily.
Lady Granger held her daughter. "I think that in time, he will learn more about it. Give him time—and don’t worry about it now! He cannot do anything, and tomorrow is your wedding day."
Elsewhere in the family wing, Tom was in the small family parlor with his mother. Severus was in the potions laboratory, brewing the Draught of Fertility for Hermione for the following night, and considerately giving them the chance to be alone before the important day. Tom stared ahead, thinking about all that had happened since they had come to this castle—since he had met Hermione. I am lucky to have her, he thought. It was fate that our families were at the same Wizards’ Council meeting that day, because otherwise we probably never would have met, but I am lucky that my own behavior did not drive Hermione away from me forever.
He turned to his mother. Her pregnancy was progressing healthily. Twins were often born early... but this was still too early for them to survive, even with magical healing. He hoped that they made it. Although he still did not like to think of his mother in bed with Severus Snape, his solution was that he just wouldn’t do so. He was glad that she had a husband now who respected her and was good to her without that consideration being dependent on a lie.
"Mother," he finally managed, "I just wanted to tell you... I’m sorry about that thing I said in our fight last summer. I had no idea... though really, I should have. I knew that at least two of our ancestors practiced incest, and I knew that the Gaunts did some evil things. And I could tell that it was upsetting you when I kept calling you a hypocrite and demanding answers."
Merope gazed at him, one hand resting on her pregnant abdomen. "I accept your apology," she said crisply. "I shielded you from that, to the extent possible, so even if you "should’ have known, to you it was something you had read had happened once by mutual consent six hundred years ago. To me, it was something I grew up knowing about, and as I reached adulthood, it became a threat I regarded with personal terror and dread." She sighed. "That said, you were correct that I arranged a betrothal for you because I had a bad experience with a "love match.’ I would not have done it if you and Hermione had not formed a friendship that day, though. It just seemed the right thing to do—to spare you what I suffered when your father left me, to help Hermione go to Hogwarts and assume her rightful place in the world, and to cement your friendship."
He smiled wryly at her. "Well, I can say now that I’m glad you did it—but that’s because it’s Hermione." The smile faded. "I hope it works out just as well for our future child. I understand the reasoning—the Black alliance is a critical one—but I hope it works out." He considered something. "Will Regulus Black and his family be here?"
"Yes," Merope said. "We were unsure about that at first—it’s openly declaring the alliance—but the time has come for secrecy about such things to end. He, the Lady Andromeda, and Lady Nymphadora are expected to come."
A sudden, dark thought passed through his mind. "And Pettigrew?" he said harshly. "We know that he has told Malfoy compromising information before. You are prepared for him to learn about the Black alliance?"
Merope’s lips thinned, though it was not directed at Tom. "I have discussed this with Severus. He will be seated amongst the guests. He will not be allowed to roam free at any point. And my hope is that being included in such a way, and permitted to see such important things as the presence of Lord Regulus, will ensure his loyalty."
Tom stared ahead once again. He hoped his mother was right.
The guests began to arrive quickly the next morning. The six wizarding noble families with whom Merope was openly allied came, bringing their sons—and, in the case of the Greengrasses, daughters. Luna Lovegood’s father then turned up, with his daughter and Harry Potter in tow. To Merope and Severus’s surprise, Sirius and Marlene Black came with this group, though the woman’s young daughter was not there.
"We left her with Lily Potter," the newlywed witch explained. "Such a good friend!"
Severus smiled thinly, not wanting this particular person to be a topic of discussion at all.
Lord and Lady Granger were greeted politely by everyone, though it was apparent to Merope and Severus that the pureblood nobles were rather nonplussed at the experience of greeting Muggles as social equals, even Muggles with land and titles.
However, the most unexpected task was keeping Lovegood away from everyone else. His behavior was very odd, and he seemed to have little notion of how to behave in public. Luna herself was not so awkward and gauche as he was, but neither would she hear a word of criticism of him. It was ultimately left to Harry to keep him distracted, who—after four years of being in Slytherin House—understood very well the need to keep such a man from causing a scene.
At last, the Black contingent arrived. Lord Regulus came to the door with great dignity, his lady wife and... presumed... daughter next to him. Father Alphard Black emerged through the entrance with them, his clerical materials in hand. Then, to the utter shock of everyone present, Lord Orion and Lady Walburga strode through the doors and surveyed the Great Hall with measured, aristocratic gazes.
The assembled wizard nobles took in the sight with a collective intake of breath. Merope and Severus were quite pleased; that it was such an evident surprise meant that Tom and Hermione had kept their word to Regulus and had told no one. Truth to tell, they themselves were shocked at the appearance of Regulus’s parents—Lord and Lady Black, the Blacks of wizarding England, the heads of the great family. Merope was especially surprised at the presence of the lady. She was known to be a devout believer in blood purity. What must she think of being here, in the home of blood-traitors, to observe the wedding of a half-blood and a Muggle-born? Her face was vaguely curdled, Merope noted.
And yet, here she was. Perhaps she did not mind the prospective alliance so much if it involved the offspring of a son who was already out of the line of inheritance and his common-born wife, the widow of a Muggle.
Sirius and Marlene noticed their family’s approach. His face twisted in dismay as his intelligent mind quickly worked out just what they were doing here and why. He sneered at his parents and brother and addressed himself to Lady Andromeda and his priestly uncle instead.
"I am surprised to see you here," he said gruffly.
"Not as surprised as I am to see you," she replied. "My felicitations to you and your wife, of course." She smiled genuinely at Marlene. "I am pleased to meet you... sister."
"My godson is a friend of the bride and groom," Sirius growled. "And he lives with us now. They specifically wanted him and his girl here as guests."
"It is an unconventional noble wedding, to be sure," Andromeda agreed, "with such a mix of guests, noble and common, wizard and Muggle, but I don’t consider that a bad thing."
"What of your husband? What does he think? That’s what truly matters, according to the current regime and my erstwhile best friend."
Andromeda gazed coolly at him. "Regulus sees the matter as I do, more or less. And he has always respected my wishes and opinions, whether he agrees or not. The people we are among today also respect witches. You should not assume that everyone is like James Potter and Armand Malfoy, Sirius." With that, she lifted her skirts so that they did not drag on the stone floor and sauntered away with her family, leaving him to contemplate her words.
Hermione clung to her father’s arm happily as he led her down the aisle to the proscenium of the hall, where Father Black and Tom awaited her, dressed in his own new robes of evergreen, grey, and silver. This was quite a green wedding, Hermione thought. Tom was trying his best to keep an undignified grin off his face. Hermione’s pretty green bridal robes accentuated her form very nicely, Tom thought as she walked towards him.
Father Black began his speech, but Tom and Hermione largely paid it little attention. Hermione was thinking of that night when they were fourteen and had consummated the betrothal. According to old wizarding custom, that was a vow equal in magical potency to a wedding such as this one. Tom had—not broken it, exactly; he had not betrayed her for someone else, but he had arguably abandoned her, and he had paid a price for it: He had had to suffer under the sea cave potion’s effects. Now, though, they were pledging to each other not just for their own ears, but before many other people.
Black concluded his remarks about marriage. He held forth a ribbon of green silk, which he allowed Tom and Hermione to wrap around each other’s wrists as they spoke vows of faithfulness to each other. In wizarding weddings, a handfasting ceremony occurred. Merope had told Hermione’s parents about this so they would not be taken aback. It seemed that they had no objection to it if it occurred with the obvious approval of a priest of the Church—but Tom, and now Hermione, knew its older origins.
As he pronounced them husband and wife, the smiles that they had been holding back burst onto their faces against their wills—but at this point, nobody cared, including Tom and Hermione themselves. They exchanged tender kisses and held hands at the front of the hall, gazing out at their guests with those smiles continuing to adorn their young faces.
A grand feast followed the wedding itself. The crest of House Riddle—a coiled, three-headed snake encircled by a wreath of elder tree leaves—was displayed prominently on a banner on the far wall of the grand dining hall. Hermione, Tom, Merope, and Severus sat at the places of honor at the head table. Next to them were Orion and Walburga Black. Regulus had understood why his parents, rather than he himself, should assume this place of honor; he had already decided to work on his estranged brother now that he had the opportunity to influence him away from that incomparable lout James Potter.
Merope observed the young newlyweds with affection. They spoke in hushed whispers to each other at the table, occasionally glancing furtively outward before returning to their private conversation. She could guess what they were talking about readily enough... but she had not cared that much two and a half years ago, and she certainly did not care now. They were eager to share a bed openly and without fear of detection, which was more than could be said about many couples of their social status.
She glanced at Peter Pettigrew, who, to her dismay, was somewhat off by himself. That was disappointing. She had hoped that Sirius Black, who had supposedly been his friend at Hogwarts, would make overtures to him. At least he is participating in the revelry, she thought.
And revelry it was. The house-elves kept bringing out dishes, all of them selected for their Englishness, many of them with a magical component to their preparation. The guests—including the Grangers—were frankly digging in. For her part, Merope was enjoying dessert, a blackberry pie, rather out of turn—but she wanted it now, due to her pregnancy, and her house-elves cheerfully obliged their mistress’s whims.
A shout rose up from the main guest table, followed by a burst of laughter. It seemed that the same people who had made inappropriate jests and shouts at Merope’s wedding were at it again. Merope’s eyebrows narrowed. Even though she knew that Tom and Hermione had already been intimate, it was a very different matter for Lord Flint, a man her age, to make ribald, bawdy comments about her son and... daughter-in-law.
Severus glanced at her meaningfully. "Would you like me to curse that oaf? I wanted to do it when we were married."
"Yes, I would like that," she growled, "but you still mustn’t do it. He’s drunk, and the last thing we need is a duel amongst ourselves."
"Let me know if you change your mind," Severus drawled. He gazed at Tom and Hermione. "At least they are so wrapped up in each other that they are completely oblivious to it."
"So far," she said—but in truth, she was very affected by the concern that he took for the young people. He had never had much use for Tom before, but he still felt the affection of a stepfather and the loyalty of being in the same family. Merope reached under the table for his hand, caressing the familiar bony fingers. He was surprised at the sudden gesture but returned the moment of affection with a tender smile of his own.
Merope and Severus were not entirely correct. Tom and Hermione were well aware of the kinds of jests that their guests were making. They simply chose to ignore them. This was their day, and they had simultaneously, nonverbally agreed to not allow any sort of foolishness to mar it for them. Nor were they strictly whispering about their own anticipation for their wedding night—though that topic was certainly part of their private discussion. But they had other things to talk about as well.
"Now would be the time for anything to happen, if it’s going to happen," Tom remarked under his breath to Hermione as he gazed across the guest table, where intoxicated nobles and commoners laughed and chattered. "Of course, the wards are secure, and nobody can come in without an escort who does have access." He smirked and raised his goblet of wine. "To Armand Malfoy’s basilisk-venom-saturated corpse."
Hermione gasped at his daring—but she hesitantly joined the toast, clinking her goblet against his, a shocked yet wry smile on her face.
"He would probably burst a blood vessel if he knew that the wedding he so reviles the thought of has already happened," Tom said. "Pity that it may not mean his final death." He took another sip.
Hermione looked down at her plate. "Let’s not discuss that right now, Tom," she urged.
He set his goblet down. "Fair enough. What would you like to discuss, my dear?"
Her heart thumped at that. "I don’t actually want to discuss—what you are hinting at—here."
He gazed out the tall windows. The sky was growing dark. "I don’t blame you," he said abruptly. "I would rather act upon these thoughts." He turned to his mother and whispered something in her ear. Hermione felt heat rise to her cheeks as he drew away from his mother and Merope gave her a cheeky smile.
Smiling, the baroness rose. She lifted her wand and placed it against the side of her throat to amplify the sound of her voice. The guests, including the sodden, ribald wizarding noblemen, hushed as she began to speak.
"My friends, my allies, my assembled honorable guests, I regret to interrupt your feast, but my son and daughter-in-law wish to retire," she said with as much dignity as she could put into the words. Scattered hoots sounded through the room. Lord Flint applauded for a second—and Hermione noted that Tom’s friends all bore lewd smirks on their faces—but at this moment, it did not bother her. The bedding announcement was inherently an invitation to lewdness.
"Let’s get them upstairs, then!" exclaimed a young man—one of Tom’s friends, Hermione guessed.
Many of the guests, not even exclusively the male ones, rushed the head table to try to lift up Tom and Hermione to carry them up to their bedchamber. Hermione’s parents—and the titled Blacks—remained back, rather aghast. Tom had heard of this sort of thing happening before, though, and he was prepared. He drew his wand and pointed it outward, moving his arm in an arc as he regarded the guests menacingly.
"We have this under control," he said, smirking. "I am quite capable of taking my bride to bed without assistance." He bowed ironically, and, in the stunned silence that followed for a few seconds, rose upright once again and brought Hermione’s hand to his lips gallantly. Then he raised his free hand in a gesture of farewell for the night.
In preparation for this day, the house-elves and Muggle assistants from the village had set up a different, larger chamber for Tom and Hermione in the family quarters. Tom’s bed was the grander of the two, having been made specially for him when he and his mother first took possession of the castle, so it would be their marriage bed, but the furnishings in this room were a mix of personal items that had belonged to both of them. As he pulled her into the grandly furnished room, she noticed with pleasure that both their animal familiars were already there, having made themselves at home.
They stumbled their way to the large draped canopy bed and threw back the drapes to allow themselves to fall onto the mattress. Hermione climbed on top of Tom and pulled at his robes, her breaths already starting to heave and intensify at the thought of what was to come. It was not even that it was a novelty—it wasn’t, anymore—but there was something special about doing this with him on this particular night.

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