Notes: Thank you so much for the interest in this AU! The story begins, as promised.

I think I'm going to have alternating points of view in this story, in order to tell the story I need to tell. There will be chapters (and sections of chapters) from Tom and Hermione's viewpoint later on. For now, this is mostly POV Merope.

Chapter Two: Toward Parselhall

Merope pondered the document in her hand, occasionally giving Tom quick glances as he perused… whatever that book was. He said that the potions master had let him take it home for the summer season.

He was a dedicated student of the magical arts, and much more talented than she herself was, Merope thought. She returned to the document, biting her lip as her thoughts converged toward a decision.

A wizard whose name she only barely remembered, Severus Snape, was acting as steward of Castle Gaunt and the barony in the absence of any members of the family to hold the seat. He had learned of her residence in London and was writing to her to bring her the news: Lord Marvolo had been dead for several years, and Lord Morfin had perished suddenly in what Snape had declared was a sudden digestive ailment brought about by eating a large dinner. Merope would have to go before Lord Armand Malfoy, the Crown's viceroy for all wizarding matters, and he had significantly increased autonomy given that the Muggles were currently locked in a war over their throne and had other things to worry about. Merope reflected on how odd it was that she knew more of the Muggle conflict between Stephen and Matilda than she now knew of current wizarding affairs in the aristocracy.

But the wizarding world did not hold itself to the Muggle custom of considering women unfit to rule in their own right. If she wanted the seat, it was probably hers, pending her appearance before Lord Malfoy at the Wizards' Council.

Morfin is dead. My father is dead. Tom and I are the last of the line. She thought about Castle Gaunt and her youth there, mentally contrasting it with the one-room flat that they lived in now.

Fine embroidered linens, jewels, luxurious bedcovers, tapestries, the family library…. Over the past fourteen years, Merope had avoided thinking of the positive aspects of life in the castle too much. Her father and brother had been mean-spirited, tyrannical, and—in her opinion—borderline mad, and it had been hard to separate the memories of grandeur from the memories of bad temper, pointless cruelties to the servants, vicious bigotry that never made sense to Merope, and then, at the last, the threat—the threat of something unspeakable—

She rolled up the parchment and tied it back. It hadn't happened. She had avoided that, at least, and now that Morfin was dead, it never would happen. The other memories—however unpleasant—would fade with time. She could make the castle into what she wanted. She glanced at Tom once again, smiling in spite of herself as she imagined the pleasure he would feel upon seeing the ancient library.

And other things, too, Merope thought. Tom did have a taste for grandeur and luxury, which had only accelerated over the previous year when he was placed—as she always knew he would be—in Slytherin House. She had been unable to provide him the finer things in life, but now, perhaps, she could. In her view, he was born to be a lord. He had the bloodline on both sides, and he had a way about him—as much as Merope was loath to admit it, he was pretty good at getting his way in matters that did not involve expenditures of money. He was a natural leader… and, unimportant as it might seem, he looked the part. Yes. She would claim the estate for his future as much as for her own.

She took up a quill, dipped it in precious ink—thank Morgana that I am a witch and can make it last longer, it's so expensive—and began to compose her reply to Snape.

Severus Snape was not an excessively handsome wizard, Merope noted when she met him at the wizarding tavern. Then she immediately rebuked herself; she was certainly nothing to look at. Snape at least was distinguished-looking.

She was not ashamed of her clothing, at least. It had cost her the entire month's salary, but she had ordered a new witch's robe of olive green, lined in light grey. The sleeves had more fabric than she was used to; she had not had sleeves like this since she was a girl. It was a gamble to spend this much money, certainly, a gamble that she would indeed be granted the title; but it would not do to appear as a pauper before Lord Malfoy—even though he probably would know that she was. Even so, this would indicate that she could dress the part of a noblewoman and comport herself with dignity. The best clothing Tom owned was his school robe, but it was good cloth and well-cut.

Snape introduced himself and bowed to her. She could tell that he was attempting to smile, but it came across as a grimace instead. What would a smile look like on Snape's face? she wondered as she and Tom followed him into a small, quiet alcove off the common room of the tavern.

They took their seats, and Snape began to speak of the legal and political situation, unrolling several documents to support his words.

"Lord Armand Malfoy is an aged wizard now," he explained, "and although he does preside over the Wizards' Council, he tends not to issue decisions until he has concurrence from his son, Abraxas, and the other high members of the council."

"And who are they?" Merope asked.

"Arcturus Black, whose family was one of the first English to take the oath of loyalty to Malfoy; and Rodolphus Lestrange, who is Norman, and is married to Black's niece."

A scowl had formed immediately on Tom's face. Merope looked at him curiously.

"His daughter Adelaide was hateful to me all year," he muttered sullenly.

She gave him a sympathetic look and returned to the conversation with Snape. "Do you expect any trouble from them?"

Snape considered, his dark eyes flashing as his gaze darted about the room to ensure no one was listening. "They will disapprove of your marriage," he finally said, "but the law is clear that you have the right of inheritance, and that your son—since he is a wizard—has that right as well."

Merope felt queasy all of a sudden. She hoped that they wouldn't publicly interrogate her about why she had married Riddle. She could tolerate disapproval, as long as she got the estate in the end. That was what mattered.

"I greatly appreciate your help," she said to Snape. "Now I must ask you some questions about the castle and fief itself…."

He nodded, expecting this.

She took a deep breath. "Is the castle… in good repair? And what of the land? My late brother… I fear that he might not have…." She trailed off.

Snape seemed to understand what she was asking. "Your late brother's private rooms are somewhat disordered, yes, but he kept to himself toward the last, and the rest of the castle is as it has always been. The fields and village are also in decent shape… and populated, yes," he added. "I expect that they will be glad to have a new ruler."

I'm sure they will, Merope thought. She knew all too well how her family had traditionally treated the serfs, villagers, and servants. Authority was necessary, but there was no need for capricious cruelty. She resolved that she would be fair to her subjects. She would be a noble worthy of the title.

Armand Malfoy brought the Wizards' Council to order. There was not a significant audience. Although it was much easier for wizards to travel great distances than it was for Muggles, most wizard nobles did not, apparently, choose to attend these meetings unless they personally had business with the Council, since they did not have votes on the Council itself.

They used to, Merope reflected. She had read about it. Before the Normans had come—before the Muggle king had installed Malfoy—there had been the Wizengamot, in which all the great families were seated. Malfoy had dissolved it and replaced it with this small Wizards' Council, consolidating power unto himself and his closest advisors.

Merope gazed around the mostly empty chamber. She and Tom were there, of course. Severus Snape was not, since he was merely the steward of the property. Merope was on her own, but she had taken the discussion with Snape to heart. The notes that he had given her helped too. Beside her was a family she did not recognize, a well-dressed married couple and a young girl with exceptionally bushy brown hair. On the other side of this family was… oh dear… that was Caractacus Burke, a London shopkeeper with whom she had had dealings years ago and had avoided ever since. He had cheated her out of most of the value of a family artifact, she had belatedly realized after selling it to him, but it had been a transaction to which they had both agreed, so she was unable to take action against him. What business did he have here?

She would find out at once, for Burke's name was the first that Malfoy called, in his thin yet somehow menacing voice. The wizard rose, bowed, and began to speak.

"Your esteemed lordships," he began, "I come here today to lodge my petition for the manor at Delafield, which is currently held in trust by the noble Black family." He gave a deferential nod to Arcturus Black, then shuffled in his robes and withdrew a paper, which he began to read. "I have documents expressing the family's intention to give this manor to my aunt, Belvina, but she passed away last year…." Burke trailed off as Black studied him pointedly.

Black considered his response. "I know of what you speak. My family did consider this manor an extraneous property, one that we had to maintain at our own expense for little return. It was our intent for your aunt to have it, you are correct, but she died before it could be put into a deed. You will need to provide evidence that you are the nearest kin to her, but following this requirement, we grant your petition." He turned to Armand Malfoy, who promptly thumped his gavel.

Burke looked startled that his request had been granted with such quick dispatch, but he did not complain. He bowed awkwardly and took his seat.

That was quick, Merope thought.

"The next order of business before us is…." Malfoy studied the agenda before him, and a dark smirk appeared on his lined face. "Lord and Lady Granger, of Castle Grange, assert that their daughter is a witch and petition for her to be granted admission to Hogwarts School in Scotland."

There were several dark, anxious looks from the members of the Council as the Granger family stood. The father began to speak.

"Your esteemed lordship," he said, using the same form of address to the wizarding lord that Burke had, "it is true: Our daughter, Lady Hermione, can perform magic. We first discovered it when she summoned a book from a high shelf in our library. She wished to read it, so she… made it slide out of its place on the shelf and fall into her hands." He glanced at the bushy-haired girl, who was standing boldly, completely unabashed, looking almost as if she wanted to speak for herself. "But she then informed us that she has been able to 'make things happen' for years but had never spoken of it to us."

"Indeed," Malfoy drawled. "Are you and your lady magical, then?"

"No, my lord, we are not."

Malfoy smirked. "Then how did you know that it was magic?"

"We have a very expansive library, my lord. We knew of the existence of magic, and it is from one particular book that we learned of the existence of this school in Scotland."

Malfoy turned to his son Abraxas. They shared grins, which Merope did not like at all. "In that case," Armand Malfoy continued, "you understand, then, that we must first prove that your daughter can do magic. You," he said to the girl.

Her parents bristled at this disrespectful form of address, but they did not dare interject. The girl, Hermione, stood forth without fear.

Malfoy picked up a silver coin. "Summon this coin into your hands."

She gulped as she regarded the coin. "My lord, I have never done magic on command before," she said.

He looked at her impassively. "You wish to attend magic school, do you not? You will have to command your magic there. Move the coin, my lady."

Merope was struck with the unfairness of the request. An untrained witch, who knew no spells, doing a specific thing deliberately by magic? In a tense situation, at that?

Hermione was staring hard at the Sickle, her young face contorted with concentration. Time continued to elapse, though, without any movement from the coin.

Malfoy picked up his gavel and prepared to slam it down to dismiss the Grangers—but just as he did, the Sickle shot across the podium into Hermione's hands. The members of the Wizards' Council stopped cold.

Hermione stared defiantly at the aged wizard lord and held up the coin. "There you are, my lords," she said, a hint of pique in her words in spite of her best attempts to keep it out.

Merope glanced at Tom, who was sitting beside her. He had shown little interest in the proceedings so far, but when the girl had done this—had performed wandless, nonverbal, specific magic on command—his attention was piqued. He was regarding Hermione with new respect.

A sour, malevolent smile appeared on Malfoy's face as he brought his gavel down at last. "The Council acknowledges that Lady Hermione Granger is a witch."

A bright smile appeared on her young face.

"The Council denies the family's request for her to be instructed in magic at Hogwarts School."

Her father sputtered. "What? Why, my lords? She did as you commanded. You acknowledged yourself just now—"

"She is a witch," Malfoy repeated, silencing the man, "but according to your own account, neither you nor your lady can perform magic. We received your petition well before this Council opened, and we took the opportunity to research your family history. There is no record of anyone in the past century being a witch or a wizard. This means that, although Lady Hermione is a witch, she is also a Mudblood."

"I beg your pardon—" Granger might not have known the word, but he could tell that it was manifestly offensive. He began to reach for his sword.

"I did not give you leave to speak. This is our word for witches and wizards who are of muddy ancestry—and you would be advised not to do that. Your swords are of no use against the wand of a wizard. You saw for yourself what your daughter can do." Malfoy stared Granger into submission. "This is our rule, Granger. If you cannot prove that an ancestor of yours was a witch or a wizard, then we cannot allow your daughter to attend our school."

"She must have inherited it from some ancestor," Granger insisted. "We just… don't have records that far back… because they were lost in the invasion…." He trailed off, realizing that Malfoy was of Norman descent himself.

Malfoy did not let the mistake pass. "Invasion? We are civilizing this country, Lord Granger. I understand that your own mother was the daughter of a Norman lord, and that your lady is also partially descended from civilized people."

"You are right, my lord, and I apologize. But you must understand—where else can she learn to control her magic?"

"That is not our problem, but do you want to know what would be our problem?" Malfoy leaned forward, smiling maliciously. "It would be a problem if your daughter attended school and ensnared a noble pureblood wizard. It would be a problem if she, by being 'different' and 'forbidden' due to her blood, disrupted a pureblood noble family's prior arrangement. Yes, she is noble—but from a wizarding standpoint, her children would be half-blood at best. If that happened, then where would we be?" His words were tinged with affected innocence and concern, but it fooled no one in the family.

Hermione exclaimed in indignant self-righteousness. "My lord, I am not—"

"Did your parents not teach you not to speak out of turn? Be silent," Malfoy sneered.

Granger rallied himself for one last attempt. "If that is the problem, then would she not be allowed to enter the school if she were betrothed to a wizard?"

Malfoy stared at Granger, brought up short for a moment, but then that ugly smile appeared on his face again. "Is she? No? Then I wish you luck, Lord Granger, in finding a highborn wizarding family who will take her. Purity of blood is important to us. Perhaps a commoner wizard… but is that what you want for your noble daughter, to cook and clean a commoner's cottage, since you Muggles do not allow your girls to inherit?"

Merope had been listening to the proceedings with growing indignation. It was obvious to her that the order to move the Sickle was not made in good faith, but to raise false hopes in the family—and the girl—only to increase the humiliation that they would face. She noticed, with dismay, that Hermione's face was about to crumple at Malfoy's latest words.

Malfoy thumped his gavel again. "Your petition is denied. Be seated."

The Grangers sat down, and Hermione buried her head on the table before her.

After that, Merope almost did not want to go before these people, but there was nothing to be gained by failing her own hearing. It would not help their situation for her not to receive her birthright. When Malfoy called her name, she and Tom rose with great dignity and stood before the wizards.

"Merope… Riddle," Armand Malfoy said, his lip curling at the surname. "You are the last of the Gaunt family, and you claim the title of Baroness of Hangleton and the associated lands and castle."

"Yes, my lord."

Malfoy's blue eyes flickered to Tom. "And you have an heir who is a wizard."

"I do, my lord. As you must know, he is half-blood, but he is a wizard who attends Hogwarts. Master Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of the school, was my great-great-grandfather."

"I do know." Malfoy studied her. "I understand that you ran away from your family to marry a Muggle."

Merope steeled herself. "Yes, my lord. I was young, and it was… romantic." I will not speak of my father's threat. I won't.

"Because of this disobedience, you would not be considered for inheritance if any other heirs of your family remained," Malfoy said severely, "but I agree that it is important to keep the ancient wizarding families in command of their holdings. We grant your petition."

Merope let out her breath all at once. "Thank you, my lord."

"You understand that, if you remarry, and your husband is a Muggle, he will not be permitted to hold any title, even that of consort. And if you marry a wizard—any wizard, even a Mudblood—then any children from that marriage take precedence over your son." He peered at Tom, then back to Merope. "Are you still able to conceive, Lady Riddle?"

Merope stared at Malfoy in astonishment. How dare he ask a personal question like that? And to ask it right after addressing her thus—the first time anyone called her by the title—was insulting. Armand Malfoy, it appeared, seemed to want to be deliberately insulting and demeaning to his petitioners. "Yes, my lord," she said through clenched teeth. "I am. And I do know of the wizarding law regarding blood status precedence of heirs." This was one of Malfoy's first changes to English wizarding law, the requirement that when a witch or wizard had offspring with more than one spouse, the children of "superior" blood status had precedence.

"Very well. By the power vested in me by the Crown, I confirm you as Baroness of Hangleton."

Merope was almost overwhelmed, but she stole a glance at Tom. Pride was suffusing his handsome face. This is ultimately for him, she thought as she made her way to the front to offer her oath to Malfoy. This is for him.

After the Council dismissed, the Granger family tried to keep to themselves in the outer chamber. Malfoy, his son Abraxas, and his friends pushed through them dismissively and then pointedly disappeared, as if to rub in their faces that they could not. The young lady was keeping her face hidden by that cloud of hair, and as Merope saw them, her heart went out to them.

Lord Granger noticed her. He visibly steeled himself and addressed himself to her. "I offer you my congratulations, my lady," he said quietly.

"Thank you, my lord," she said. She glanced at the young girl. "I am sorry for how that turned out for you. But…." She hesitated. What could she do? She wanted to do something, but what? Finally something occurred to her. "I remember very clearly that there is a family library of magic in the castle. I expect there are also family wands. Your daughter could learn the art from sources other than the school in Scotland."

Tom's ears pricked up at the mention of the library, but he said nothing.

Merope continued, instantly resolved on her sudden idea. "Yes," she repeated, "that is an option… and I would like to offer my invitation to you and your family to visit the castle at Hangleton, once I have established myself and my son there."

Granger glanced at his wife and daughter. "Are you proposing to establish a rival school in your family castle?"

Merope hesitated. "That was not… I meant private tutelage… but…."

Granger looked at her compassionately. "Perhaps you need time to consider it. You have just come into the property, after all. I accept your preliminary invitation," he bowed, "and look forward to resolving the details."

Merope smiled faintly. "You will receive a formal invitation from me in due time, then. It may come from… an unconventional messenger."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"An owl."

Granger exchanged a look with his wife. "Indeed. Is that a magical custom?"

"It is."

"Very well, then." He rallied himself, taking a deep breath. "I was honored to have met you, and I wish you well. A safe journey to you."

"And to you as well."

The castle was as Merope had remembered it. It had expanded significantly since the founding of Hogwarts and the Norman invasion, and had changed in architectural style as well, but that was still before her birth. Wearing the emerald-studded tiara always worn by female regnants of the House of Gaunt, Merope surveyed the great hall in her new olive-green gown, still the best clothing that she knew for a fact she owned—though she hoped that her old clothes were still here, that her father and brother had not destroyed them, and that they fit. Magic could do something to improve the fit of clothes, but it was easier when clothes were too big than too small.

Tom's room would be one near the library—because of course it would. He would have a new bed commissioned, a great wooden bed with heavy green velvet drapes. There was more than enough money to pay for it. Severus had gone over the accounts with Merope as soon as she had taken up residence in the castle. Either Morfin had been frugal—which Merope could not believe—or Severus had concealed from him the true income to the barony from the farms. That was what Merope rather suspected.

If that was true, she thought, then it meant that Severus was not entirely to be trusted… at first. He had acted upon his own judgment about his lord—a correct judgment, but still, an independent one—and it meant that she would have to earn his loyalty. She wondered for a moment about the sudden digestive ailment that had carried off Morfin, but instantly dismissed that idea. Severus had been nothing but helpful to her. He had wanted her to be the baroness. He might have had little loyalty to a man like Morfin, who manifestly had not deserved it, but he had retained loyalty to the family.

The family. Merope had mixed feelings about that concept. She had a right to this place because she was a Gaunt, but she had decided that she would not emphasize the name too much. Tom bore his father's name, and the name of Gaunt was extinct in the male line. Merope's claim was based on her own birth, but as far as she was concerned, she was starting a new house named Riddle. She had even decided to rename Castle Gaunt itself. Parselhall, she had determined. It recognized their heritage without shackling them to the Gaunt name and all its depravities.

She smiled again, surveying her new domain once more. It was difficult, and she did not really know what she was doing—she had to rely on Severus to understand a lot of the clerical and legal matters—but she was determined to learn. It would get easier with time.

The Granger family was to arrive here in an hour for their visit, she recalled. Tom had better be ready to receive them. He was holed up in the library, as he had been every day since they moved into the castle. She could not fault him for his thirst for knowledge, but he still needed to look the part of his new station. She walked toward the library to find him.

That room was vast and tall, with two stories of bookshelves holding books, scrolls, tied codices… and some magical artifacts. Tom was ensconced in a corner, reading a dusty tome and frowning as he mentally translated the text from whatever its original language was. Merope drew near to him to see what he was reading.

He glanced up at her and smiled thinly. "Why didn't you ever tell me that we're descended from Morgana?"

Merope glanced at the book, which was, indeed, a family history. She winced. The family claimed descent from Morgana le Fay through Mordred, conveniently glossing over the paternity of Mordred… but only because of Arthur's Muggle status. The… practice… had certainly not gone extinct in the family after that, and she did not really want Tom to learn about it just yet. Slytherin's own son and daughter, the very ones who had first sworn fealty to Malfoy after Slytherin's departure from the island—

"It never seemed relevant," she said briskly, taking the book away from Tom and ignoring the surprise and disapproval in his face.

"You told me about Slytherin."

"You were going to the school at Hogwarts, placed in Slytherin House, a Parselmouth, and the man was your great-great-great-grandfather. Morgana was six hundred years ago. It was not relevant."

"It's relevant now," he muttered, looking longingly at the genealogy that his mother was levitating to the top of a shelf.

"Our claim does not rest on that, though," she pointed out. "Now, I see that you are wearing your fine robes—"

"Yes, Mother, the Granger family is supposed to be here. I know."

Merope smiled in spite of herself. She should have known that he would be organized. I'm just nervous, she told herself. Just nervous about all this. Everything will be all right, though.

End Notes: I realize that many, perhaps most, versions of the Arthurian legend do not have Morgana as the mother of Mordred. For all we know, she's not his mother in this AU either. Merope and Tom believe that the documents in the castle are accurate and therefore that they are descended from Morgana le Fay through Mordred (who, in this AU, was a wizard). They also believe some other unusual things about the legend. Let's just say there's a reason Merope didn't use the name of Merlin, a wizard who served a Muggle king, in her mental monologue. They're not going to investigate further, because they don't doubt those documents. There were several versions of the Arthurian story floating around by this era even in real history, and their family legend is another account that may or may not be "true." The point is that they believe it, and later on, this belief will be highly important to certain character actions.