Author's Notes: Thank you, reviewers! Djorlcc, Treesah Quiche, Lady Charity, Gemma-writes, Sonzai Taz, Xenia Marvolo, Chelley Bean, Illyra, Barranca, vlucia, xLzM, Lilith Kayden, swaggerofthedagger, blindfaithoperadiva, NonyMouse, Matchstick Fighter, Fullmetal, Moony's Metamorphmagus, phoebe turner, emeraldice77, Idio-cynic, AnkouBlake, Arsinoe de Blassenville, GY, SaintRidley, Neon-Lady-Katie, phoenixtears, The Enchanted Teakettle, SakuraCa, Quillian, and StoogegirlSilva. It's taken me awhile to get this next chapter up, but it's quite long to make up for it!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything in the Harry Potter universe; JK Rowling does. No profit is being made from this fanfiction and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Fourteen

'We need some fireworks. Definitely.' Cornelius Nott grinned, a smile splitting his narrow face in two.

'Yeah!' Antonin Dolohov echoed in his finally-settled-low voice. 'Let's set Gryffindor Tower on fire!'

'Shh, keep your voices down,' Tom urged. They were in Zonko's joke shop and it was very crowded on the first Hogsmeade weekend after Christmas holidays. Many of the students had gift money to spend, and for once Tom was included in that category.

Tom's holiday had been a subdued affair, but different from previous years, in that Casper Malfoy came over for dinner and Tom got a rather generous stipend of spending money for Christmas and for his fifteenth birthday. From his mother he'd gotten new school robes, because he'd grown about three inches since the summer. The wheels of change were grinding into gear; next month, his mother was moving into a larger flat on Diagon Alley, also courtesy of Casper. Tom was not sure what he thought about that; the flat above the apothecary had been his home all his life. It would be strange to come home to somewhere else.

He had come to terms with his mother's marriage. He liked Casper Malfoy a great deal, because the man was intelligent, powerful, and rich, and always knew the right gift to give Tom.

It hadn't stopped him looking up contraceptive potions in the Restricted Section, however. Tom was not above hedging his bets a little.

'We three kings of Orient are… smoking on a rubber cigar!' Ian Avery sang. The others joined in. 'It was loaded and exploded, now we're on yonder star!' Ian had learned the rude versions of various Christmas carols from his Squib cousin over the holidays; the Slytherin fourth-year boys had been singing nothing else since the start of the term.

'Are ya gonna buy something, or aren't ye?' The shopkeeper of Zonko's waved a stick at them.

'Come on, lads,' said Tom, grinning. 'Let's get these fireworks and get out of here.'

On the way out of the shop, the crowd of them - eight Slytherin boys in total - ran into their rival equivalents. A crowd of Gryffindor boys pushed and shoved their way into the shop, along with one girl (Pandora, of course).

'Oooh, it's Frankie Finnegan,' Avery mocked. 'Heard your Muggle parents wanted to send you overseas, on account of the war. Too bad they didn't manage it.'

'Heard you spent the holidays with Squibs, Avery,' Frank returned.

It was common knowledge about Avery's cousin.

'Shut up, mudblood,' Avery hissed.

Frank brought out his wand.

'Simmer down,' Tom interjected. 'Do you wanna be tossed out of the shop? Let's go.' He yanked on Avery's arm. On the way out, he caught the murderous expression on Frank Finnegan's face, but he also saw Wolfin's grin and Pandora's smirk. Even in inter-house conflicts, Tom came out with points on both sides.

Fireworks in tow, the Slytherins came up with various plots about what to do with them, each idea more ridiculous than the first. As they tromped through the late-winter slush back up to Hogwarts Castle, Tom clasped his gloved hands behind his back and pondered how best to use their booty from Zonko's. As usual, his idea was the most ingenious; he suggested they set the fireworks loose at the Valentine's Day dinner… and charm them to spell out 'Professor Kaige loves Professor Collier.'

The boys hooted. The Divination professor, Victoria Kaige, was a tall, imposing woman who had an uncanny ability to see through the fibs of wayward students. It would be brilliant to embarrass her with the Charms professor, Elbert Collier, who was a confirmed old bachelor. It appealed to Tom because they could never trace the prank back to him, and it was something the entire student body would enjoy. He grinned wickedly. Humiliation of the authorities gave him great glee.

'Tom, mate, you're a genius!' Lestrange declared. 'That is far and away the best idea ever.'

'You're making me blush,' Tom said.

'What if we get in trouble?' Cornelius said nervously.

'We won't. Unless one of you gives the game away. But none of you will, will you?'

'No way!' his friends chorused.

'I'll do the Charms work for the lettering,' Tom said. 'Vow of silence, lads.'

They made a pact that none of them would brag about their involvement or reveal the identities of their fellow pranksters. It would be more than enough to see the outraged embarrassment of their professors. 'True genius always goes unappreciated,' Tom intoned philosophically. 'Best to get used to the idea.'

Only, he was tempted to break their vow of silence; he knew that Pandora and Wolfin would get an absolute kick out it. Somehow, though, he figured that the Gryffindors would suspect him as the culprit, because great minds thought alike.

'Your hair is lovely, Merope. These curls must be natural.' Roxanne Malfoy-Yaxley kept her false smile plastered on her beautiful face and the lines around her eyes crinkled attractively. Roxanne's warm hands patted Merope's shoulders. 'Shall I call the house-elf to set it for you? I'm sure you're not used to the elves, with your… background.'

Merope felt as though her mouth was full of toffee. She could not keep up with the woman's double-edged compliments, her allusions to Merope's poverty, the hidden snobbery that infused every word. Instead of speaking, Merope just nodded her head. She preferred house-elves to Casper's sister; at least elves had a work ethic.

They were at Malfoy Manor in Merope's guest bedroom suite, a room in cream and gold and brown and ivory, ever so tasteful. It was the night of the engagement announcement and Abraxas was hosting a ball in celebration of his brother's imminent marriage. Roxanne was meant to be helping Merope get ready, but her contribution so far was to make Merope so nervous that she trembled in her delicate goblin-made shoes.

The salon on Diagon Alley had once again done what they could with Merope's hair and nails, but short of a face transplant or a heavily-layered glamour charm, true beauty eluded her. The most she could hope for was nice. Respectable. Well-groomed. But Merope did not even feel that; instead she felt like she was drowning and flailing around and in a blind panic that she would do the wrong thing.

Her upbringing as a Gaunt in a filthy hovel had not prepared her for this. Nor had her decade-and-a-half of working as a humble apothecary assistant.

The house-elf arrived with a pop and set to work putting Merope's charmed curls into a twist at the top of her head. It took mere seconds; Merope would have spent hours trying to get the same effect if she'd done it herself.

Roxanne smiled like a cat. 'All of society is dying to meet you,' she said. 'You're such a refreshing stranger to all of us. And I thought we knew all the purebloods in England…' she gave a tinkling laugh. 'Of course, you can't be blamed, Merope. You never had a proper coming-out, did you? And marrying that Muggle… it must be so difficult to be a widow. You must have felt that your entire life had come to an end!'

Merope bit her tongue. 'Life has not been easy,' she demurred. 'But I would not trade my choices for the world.' She thought of Tom, her handsome son, the top of his class at Hogwarts. She wanted to throw it in Roxanne's face: that a son of a Muggle and a witch could be better and more powerful than any of them. But she didn't. She did not want to make an enemy of Roxanne Malfoy-Yaxley.

'This is such a nice gown,' Merope said, fingering the silk frock she wore. It was dark red and looked good with her pale skin and brown hair.

Roxanne had chosen it for her.

'It is nice,' Roxanne said airily. 'Last season, of course, but I didn't think you would mind. With this terrible war…' she sighed, 'it's so difficult to get the proper imports. Muggles make the best textiles, you know, because they rely on manual labour.'

'Mmm,' said Merope.

She wished Roxanne would leave and fidgeted in her chair, hoping to give the other woman a hint. However, Casper chose that moment to knock on the door and rescue Merope from the company of his sister.

'Darling,' Casper said, crossing the room in four strides and bending to kiss Merope on the cheek. 'You look beautiful. Does she not look beautiful, Roxanne?'

'Oh, yes, brother, she will be very popular,' Roxanne said with a smile. 'I'll leave you. The greeting line will start in ten minutes.' She flounced out of the room, her own designer dress robes flowing in a swirl of pale blue behind her.

'Are you ready, my dear?' Casper asked.

'I suppose,' Merope said in a shaky voice. She allowed Casper to help her up from her seat at the vanity table. His hand was warm and steady. 'I'm afraid I'll say the wrong thing. I wasn't cut out for this.'

'Ridiculous,' said Casper. 'You are lovely. And you will be my wife. That is all you need remember.'

'You're so good to me, Casper.'

Casper kissed her on the lips this time and Merope felt a warmth down her spine. He had been the perfect gentleman during their courtship so far, but a dark part of her wanted more from him… she recalled nights with her ex-husband… and discovered that she desired Casper Malfoy even more than she'd desired her handsome Muggle neighbour. It was because he cared for her. Dear, dear man.

She brought her hand up and ran it through his silky blond locks as he kissed her. 'You'll get lipstick on your face,' she mumbled through his kisses.

'I don't mind,' Casper whispered back.

After several more minutes they broke apart, Casper wiped the dark lipstick off his mouth, and Merope re-applied hers. She took his arm and they went downstairs together to be part of the receiving line.

That turned out to be an experience Merope hoped never to repeat. So many women came through those grand double doors; so many women gave her the once-over and she imagined their internal sneers at her. She felt like she didn't belong. For Casper's sake, though, she stood with her back straight and a pleasant expression on her plain face. She ought to get used to this sort of thing.

In front of her, Abraxas and his wife Veridian stood; on the other side, Roxanne stood with her husband Benedict Yaxley, a tall and skinny man with chestnut hair. Curiosity was at a peak for the woman alongside Casper Malfoy. Merope was asked her name at least thirty times. Some of the incoming faces she recognised as customers at the apothecary, but of course they did not even recognise her as the same woman.

'Good evening,' she said in the most cultured voice she could muster. She was all too conscious of her harsh northern vowels. 'Nice to meet you. How do you do.' Guest after guest. The ballroom was soon full.

They would get the announcement out of the way first. Abraxas stood up and cast a Sonorus charm so that his voice would be heard in every corner of the house.

'Ladies and gentlemen… nay, friends… we are here tonight for a special purpose. It gives me great pleasure' (Abraxas did not sound very pleased) 'to announce the betrothal of my elder brother, Casper Malfoy, to Merope Riddle. In the absence of our late father, let me be the first to offer my congratulations to the happy couple.' Abraxas raised his glass of champagne and gave a frosty smile.

'Here, here,' someone echoed from the audience, and the company clapped politely and drank from their own glasses.

Casper stood up with Merope on his arm. 'Don't worry,' he whispered to her, 'you don't have to say anything.'

Merope could have cried with relief.

Casper spoke to the assembly. 'Thank you, friends. Merope is dear to my heart and you will find in her those qualities of kindness, loyalty, and intelligence befitting an extraordinary witch. Let us welcome her to the family.'

They drank to that, too, but Merope could not help noticing the beady glances of the crowd, the raised eyebrows. They were purebloods all, and her last name was most unfamiliar to them. Perhaps some of them had children at Hogwarts who knew of her Tom, but she could not rely on him now. She must stand on her own two feet right alongside her fiancé.

Casper led her into a dance (thank heaven she knew how to do the modern dances from the Wizarding Wireless) and the party turned into a whirl of colour. Despite Roxanne's lamentation about the difficulty of finding good silks during the war, Merope noticed that most of the women wore new and fashionable robes. As she waltzed in Casper's arms, she wondered how many of Grindelwald's supporters were here in this ballroom tonight; she wondered if there were agents of his and she shivered.

The band played on, oblivious to politics. Merope and Casper took a break from dancing and Casper murmured in her ear. 'Wait here with my brother, darling, I see a business associate I must speak with tonight. You'll be fine, won't you?'

She nodded with her lips pressed together. Abraxas stood next to her with a penetrating gaze.

'The soon-to-be Mrs. Malfoy,' Abraxas said, somewhat sourly. 'I offer my congratulations again.'

'Thank you,' Merope said. 'It's very good of you to have this ball for our sake.'

'Oh,' Abraxas laughed, 'it's not for your sake. I've been meaning to throw a party and my brother's engagement was merely an excuse. I do hope you don't mind.'

'Of course not,' Merope whispered. Abraxas made her uneasy, in part because he was so handsome, like a more symmetrical model of Casper… and in part because he had an iciness about him that was hard and dangerous.

'Tell me, Merope – I call you that since you will soon be my sister – I hope you realise the honour of marrying into our family. We come from a long line of distinguished wizards and we believe in keeping it that way.'

Merope narrowed her eyes. 'I also come from a long line of distinguished wizards – and witches, too.'

'Mmm,' said Abraxas. 'It is important, is it not, to keep the lines pure? I'm sure you've realised your prior mistakes and are not tempted to repeat them.'

'My mistakes?' But Merope knew of what he spoke.

'Consorting with Muggles,' said Abraxas, twisting his well-formed mouth into a grimace.

'I regret nothing,' Merope declared, emboldened by the sudden flame of anger that leapt inside her chest. She thought about her son. Why, she thought, nearly laughing at her own irreverence, Abraxas Malfoy is a prejudiced old… old git! She said, 'I loved my first husband, even though he was a Muggle, and in case you are unaware, my son is considered the best student at Hogwarts. Hardly a case for pureblood supremacy.'

Abraxas let out a huff of air. 'I see my brother's magnanimous attitude has caught a Muggle-lover. I always told him to be wary of his low standards.'

Merope's hand itched toward the hidden seam in her dress that concealed her wand. She rather wanted to hex Abraxas. She could hardly do it in a ballroom full of people, though… and her eloquence was already spent. She was reduced to turning red with anger and stuttering.

With a sneer down his nose at her, Abraxas leaned forward and spoke. 'Mrs. Riddle, you are in over your head. And your half-blood son will never inherit a cent of the Malfoy fortune. I would hate for you to enter into your marriage without a thorough understanding of what your position in the family will be.' With that he turned on his heel and walked away from her.

Merope let out a long, frustrated breath. How dare he! She and Tom had done just fine on their own without any old Malfoys to help them. In an attitude of defeat, she gazed around the ballroom at the glitzy couples, the witches and wizards who'd known each other for years, the groups of laughing women who, Merope was sure, were having a joke at her expense. Outsider, whispered her father's voice in her inner ear.

Embarrassed to be standing all alone like a wilted wallflower, Merope inched along the room, careful not to step on anyone's toes. A hand reached out and grabbed her arm; startled, Merope saw that it was Roxanne.

'Join us!' Roxanne said in a tone of gaiety. 'I'd like to introduce you to Mrs. Melania Nott and Mrs. Irma Black. Two of my dearest friends. Ladies, this is my brother's fiancée, Merope Riddle.'

Mrs. Nott was a woman familiar to Merope; she had that thin face, fair hair, and shrewish eyes that glinted like a bird's. Mrs. Black was fat but handsome.

Merope found her voice and said, 'How do you do.'

'We are so delighted to meet you,' Irma Black crooned. 'We've heard ever so much about you.'

'Let's sit down, ladies,' Melania Nott said, gesturing to the table behind them. 'My feet are weary from these shoes.'

The four women sat; Merope watched with wide eyes as the three others sank into their chairs with coordinated grace.

'Please call us by our names,' said Irma Black. 'No need for formalities in our group. And we do hope you'll become part of our circle, Merope.'

'Thank you,' Merope mumbled. 'Thank you, Irma.'

A flicker of annoyance passed over Roxanne's face, but it was gone in an instant, and the blonde waved over a house-elf bearing punch. 'A toast to my brother,' Roxanne said. 'And to his new bride.'

'Cheers,' said Melania. Swallowing a sip of punch, she turned a gimlet's gaze at Merope. 'Tell us, Merope. We're fascinated to know more about you. You work at the apothecary, yes?'

'Yes, that's correct,' said Merope. In a glimmer of precognition, she thought she saw where the conversation would turn, but she was powerless to stop it.

'How interesting to have a job like that,' said Irma.

'Well, Merope has not had an easy life,' said Roxanne, parroting Merope's words from earlier in the evening. 'She's very lucky my brother took notice of her. She might have been working in that dreadful shop for the rest of her life!'

Laughter from all three women rang in Merope's ears and she blushed. 'It's not so bad,' she said.

'I can't stand the smell in there,' said Irma. 'It makes me want to sneeze.'

'Don't worry, dear,' Melania said to Merope. 'Good things come to those who wait, isn't that what they say? Now that Casper's taking care of you, you'll never be on hard times again. Your late husband – Riddle, that was his name? – he must have been down on his luck to leave you with nothing the way he did.'

The hush that followed the statement was full of judgement. The elephant in the room had been mentioned: Merope's Muggle ties. Irma Black's face was drawn back, folded in on itself like a bulldog, and Roxanne's eyes glinted like blades.

'Oh,' Roxanne said, 'she's learned her lesson to stay away from Muggles, haven't you, Merope?'

Melania laughed. 'How did you stand it, Merope? Sharing your bed with filth? Shame that a child resulted. My son Cornelius has mentioned your Tom. First mudblood – oh, excuse me, half-blood – to be sorted into Slytherin in ages, isn't he? Shocking, I say.'

'Indeed,' Irma cackled. 'Merope is fortunate that Casper is getting on in years. His standards have come down a bit, I say… but it's all a boon in the end, isn't it, dear?' Irma turned to Merope and grinned.

The room was spinning. Merope was dizzy and wondered, faintly, how much alcohol was in the punch… Roxanne was staring at her with that horrible grin on her face as though she wanted to snarl and bite… Merope felt choked and overheated. 'I – I need some air,' she mumbled, more to herself, and she stood up from her chair. The hem of her dress caught on the table and tore away. She stumbled, mortified, and ran.

She could hear the laughter of the women even as she pushed open the door to the terrace. The icy air hit her like a slap in the face and she gulped it in. Her cheeks were wet and Merope realised that she was crying. Her dress was tattered at the bottom (fitting for an Outsider, for you, filthy Muggle-hankering little bitch) and her breath came in hiccoughs.

Would her ill-conceived decisions as a youth never cease to haunt her? And what was she thinking to marry into the Malfoy family? They would never accept her. They would especially never accept her son. Merope stared across the snow-dusted Salisbury plain. She saw a vague glow coming from old Stonehenge, a mere five miles away. The moon was rising in the east, waning gibbous, looking somehow bloated and waxy in the sky.

'Merope?'

It was Casper. He stepped up beside her and laid his warm hand over her cold one, resting on the stone balustrade.

'Maybe this isn't such a good idea,' she said.

There was silence for a moment, then Casper cleared his throat. 'My sister has been giving you a hard time.'

'Your brother, too.'

'They should mind their own business,' he said. 'Listen, Merope.' He took her in his arms and looked straight down into her weeping face. 'I'm going to marry you because I want you with me. You're a strong, sensible, lovely woman and I don't care that you married a Muggle fifteen years ago. Tom is proof that my family's prejudice is groundless. Don't let them upset you, my darling, they will accept my decision in time. I am the head of this family.'

Merope sniffled. 'All right, but…'

'No 'buts', as you English say,' Casper said. He brought out a soft white handkerchief and dabbed her cheeks dry. 'We will catch cold out here. Come, let us go back inside. The ball is almost over. I will stay with you now.'

Reluctantly Merope followed him back inside. She hoped the evidence of her crying was gone. She did not want the others to see that she was weak and upset. A good face must be put on all things.

Valentine's Day brought a final gust of winter weather, with snow piling up on the windowsills and the wind howling through the cracks in the castle. The magical fires did not do enough to ward off the chill, especially in the Slytherin dungeons; Tom took to wearing his full cloak and scarf indoors. He cursed the rule of 'no magic in the hallways.' He could see where it might apply to irresponsible students, but he was better at Charms than some of his teachers; he thought he should have special dispensation to cast Warming spells over himself.

It kindled Tom's heart, however, to think of the imminent prank that would take place at the Valentine's feast that evening. He wished he could accelerate the day.

Helping himself to some toast and jam, Tom gave his morning greetings to the stragglers (Avery and Lestrange) who had slept partway through breakfast. Following on the boys' heels came a pack of fourth- and fifth-year Slytherin girls who giggled at Tom. He fought the blush on his cheeks and concentrated instead on the logistics of their fireworks prank.

'The lettering's done,' he whispered to his mates. 'Cornelius, you're going to light them. You remember the incantation?'

'Yah,' Cornelius said.

'Tonight, when I tell you, just say it and then we can all sit back and enjoy.' Tom grinned.

'It'll be brilliant!' Avery said enthusiastically as he shoveled scrambled eggs into his mouth. 'We'll be legends.'

'No,' Tom warned. 'No credit. Just the satisfaction of a job well-done. Unless you feel like making enemies of your teachers, Avery…'

'Yeah, yeah, sorry,' said Avery.

They were interrupted with the swoop of owls as the morning's post arrived. Tom did not pay attention at first, until an owl dropped a stack of envelopes onto his lap. He untied the bundle, mystified, and then realised the horror of it.

Valentines. Nine of them.

Tom had the brief, esoteric thought that this was what was meant by karma; he'd imagined the embarrassment of others on Valentine's Day and thus drawn it to himself.

'Tom, watch-er got there?' Avery hooted.

'Nothing of consequence,' Tom said coolly. He could feel the heat rising on his cheeks, though. Who in the world would send him Valentines? What sort of deluded girl would make such a bold move on him? Nine such girls, apparently. It gave him an itchy feeling under the collar of his robes. There was nothing for it and so Tom decided to make it a joke. 'Looks like I'm popular,' he said, holding up the stack of cards. 'Let's see who sent them.'

The other boys snickered. Tom opened the top card, a garish pink thing covered in hearts. The card inside was even worse; it was made of lace and inside was written, 'To Tom Riddle. Be Mine! Love, Myrtle Manningtree.'

'Ugh, disgusting,' Tom said. He barely made the connection between name and face and concluded the girl was ugly, whining, and Hufflepuff. 'Myrtle Manningtree fancies me!' he said in a mock whisper of derision.

His friends snorted with laughter and urged him to open the next.

A red-and-purple monstrosity of a card was next; it was from some Gryffindor third-year he didn't even know. Then came a white card that put Tom in mind of a wedding, which must have been the intention; it said, 'Dear Tom, I think you're swell. Sincerely, Willow Mcleod (Ravenclaw)'

Even Tom was laughing by the time he got through them. One of the cards was a 'Secret Admirer' note, but Tom cast a quick charm that identified the handwriting as that of Olive Hornby in his own house. No great surprise there. So all these girls fancied him; perhaps he could use that. A smile played at his lips, at odds with his inner discomfort at the romantic attention. Something about romance made him feel a bit nauseated.

Shaking it off, he stood up. 'Come on,' he said to Cornelius and Avery, 'let's get to Herbology. I don't want to have to stand next to the Whining Woodruff this time.'

By the time dinner rolled around, Tom had forgotten about the morning's incident with the Valentine's cards, and instead had mind only for the fireworks lurking beneath the Great Hall table. He had the uncomfortable feeling that Professor Dumbledore knew about them, because at dinner he took a different seat from his usual, away from the place where the fireworks were concealed. That was fine with Tom as long as Dumbledore didn't get in the way.

The main course had disappeared from their plates and a plethora of heart-shaped candies and puddings materialised on the table. Tom rolled his eyes. What a stupid holiday. He had no use for it. He especially had no use for those couples in the upper forms who had their arms and hands entwined; his gaze dwelt on Druella Rosier who had stars in her eyes and George Hornby who had lipstick on his face. Yeurgk.

'Right, then,' Tom said in an undertone to Avery. 'Dippet's going to give a speech. Old fool. Then when he sits down, that's your cue to say the incantation.' Beneath the table Tom rubbed his hands together in anticipation. This was going to be superb.

Headmaster Dippet stood up and shuffled to the carved lectern, which was shaped like an owl spreading its wings. 'I'd like to make an announcement,' his voice carried thinly across the Great Hall.

It always bothered Tom when the Headmaster said 'I'd like to make an announcement.' He was the Headmaster, for Merlin's sake; couldn't he just make the announcement instead of saying he'd like to? Of course, Dippet was weak. Tom could smell it.

'Beginning next week, we will have two new first-years joining our ranks. They have been at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic until now, but due to the… state of things… in Europe, they will be transferring here instead. Please do your best to make them welcome.' Dippet cleared his throat of a frog. 'Finally, Happy Valentine's Day! Especially to those lucky enough to be in love.' He chuckled.

The student couples took it as a sign to preen over each other. Many of the girls in the Great Hall took it as a sign to form sour expressions (out of disappointment, Tom knew); many of the boys took it as a sign to roll their eyes.

And Tom took it as a sign to nod at Avery.

When Dippet sat his short self in the Headmaster's seat, Tom heard Avery whisper the incantation and touch his wand to a small brass key. It would set off the fireworks. He'd charmed it that way; recently he had learned something called the Protean charm, which allowed magical instructions to be keyed remotely and duplicated. It was handy and this was his first experimentation with it.

Eagerly he watched the head table, waiting. When he saw Professor Dumbledore looking his direction, Tom schooled his features into calm, allowing his excitement to show only in his eyes.

Then, every head in the hall swivelled toward the distracting pinwheel of sparks that spurted from beneath the table. Tom's eyes widened. It had worked. The fireball rolled forward, hovering in the air, and the flashing red-and-white light captured the attention of every student and staff member. Dumbledore sent a quick extinguishing charm at the fireball, but Tom had already thought of it; it was ineffective.

Then the fireball sparkled into dazzling, dancing series of letters, spelling out one at a time. The students chanted along with the letters as they appeared: 'K-A-I-G-E… L-O-V-E-S…'

The hall burst into wild, pounding, stomping laughter as the fireworks spelled the name 'Collier.' Dippet tried to shush everyone, but none paid him heed. At the head table, Victoria Kaige had a furious red blush across her cheeks, as did Elbert Collier. Some bold student at the Gryffindor table began to sing, 'Kaige and Collier, sitting in a tree…'

Even Dumbledore's lips were twitching in a smile, though his eyes were scanning the Great Hall closely for signs of guilt.

Tom roared with laughter along with all of his housemates. He hoped none of his friends gave it away with a slap on the back or a show of responsibility; they did not, and that made him even happier. The glowing letters started to do cartwheels in the air and then, after an appropriate time, they exploded into a shower of sparks.

The entire student body applauded.

Feeling rather up on himself, Tom was still grinning as he noticed Kaige and Collier throw looks at each other, and then tentative smiles. It would be even better if he could take credit for manipulating teachers into a relationship. Not that he cared whether they were single, married, or anywhere in between… it was the element of control that appealed to him. He crossed his arms with a smug look.

'That was bloody amazing,' Lestrange hissed, laughing.

'Ha! Oh, look, Dippet's going to whine about it,' Cornelius said, nodding up the head table.

Dippet made ineffectual noises about 'punishment' and 'pranks' and 'detention', but Tom wasn't worried in the least. Even if a sharp staff member suspected him (Dumbledore might put it together), there was not a shred of proof. He would deny involvement until the hippogriffs came home.

On his way out the Great Hall, surrounded by his laughing Slytherins, he ran into Wolfin and Pandora.

'Nice one, Tom,' Wolfin said below his breath.

Tom looked sharply at his friend.

'We'll never tell,' Pandora whispered, her eyes twinkling.

Tom winked at her, gave Wolfin a good-natured shove, and with a wave he strolled off toward his own dormitories, feeling very content indeed.