Notes: I'm not sure if I just failed to write the previous chapter effectively, but… Hermione is working against Tom at the moment. She's telling herself that it's for his own good and she won't actually follow through all the way (i.e. influence enough votes to remove him from office), but she was not gathering intelligence on his opponents for his use.

Another thing I want to clarify, I'm not writing this storyline as an allegory of any real-world political campaign. There are certainly some details (especially the radical Reformists' comments in the pub in the previous chapter) that are adapted from real things, and three factions may make their moves similarly to real coalitions and parties, but that's because I'm trying to keep the machinations realistic in a general way. The storyline isn't meant to mirror any specific campaign from the real world, nor am I basing the characters on any actual political figures. It's an exploration of a sane, politically powerful Tom who legitimately cares about the wizarding world's future, who does think that wizards are superior to Muggles, but who doesn't divide wizards themselves based on "blood."

Warning: Anyone who has been troubled by the "imposed childbearing" theme should be aware that this chapter may be particularly distressing.

Chapter Fourteen: Wizarding Renaissance, Part III: Muck and Mire

The spindly, pasty-faced man plastered a sickly smile on his face as he handed a purse of gold to the well-dressed older wizard sitting across from him.

The older wizard weighed the bag casually, smiling. "I knew Crouch was very well-to-do," he remarked, "but this is impressive."

"We are not affiliated with Mr. Crouch officially," the young man said in neutral tones.

"I understand." The older wizard gave him a knowing look. "I've certainly had my concerns about Crouch, I won't lie—awfully close to the Malfoys, he is—but it's clear that he does want the votes of us true Reformists, which is more than can be said for Riddle. Riddle only wants to tell other people why he's right and they are wrong—to make other people think like him. Crouch is at least interested in courting us."

The young man's face almost seemed to ripple for a second. He frowned and quickly shuffled in his briefcase for a metal flask. He raised it and quaffed a sip, wincing slightly as the liquid went down his throat.

"What's that?" the older man inquired.

The younger one put it back in his briefcase. "It's…." He looked faintly embarrassed. "It's a medical potion of a personal nature," he said in a low voice.

"Ah. I see." The older wizard seemed disinclined to pursue that subject further. He stood up in tandem with his companion, and they shook hands. "Well, it was pleasant dealing with you, Mr. Pearson."

"Likewise."

As the older wizard turned his back, the younger one furtively brought out his wand and cast a silent spell at his retreating figure. Now the departing man would not clearly remember the name or face of the person who had given him money.

Hermione examined her list of Wizengamot names that night, crossing off another one. Assuming all of the people that she had bribed actually voted for the challenge, Tom was now ten votes away from being removed from office.

How close is too close? she mused. Politics had never been her strongest suit. Would Crouch not make an official challenge at all unless he was completely certain that he had the votes already locked down? Or would he challenge Tom if the trend alone appeared to be in his favor? There might be wavering members of the Wizengamot who would hop on the Crouch bandwagon during the final vote simply because it appeared that momentum was on Crouch's side. If that were the case, then Hermione realized it would potentially be difficult to judge "how close was too close."

The feeling of power was heady to Hermione. I can actually control his fate, she thought. It was thrilling, in a way, but at the same time, rather frightening.

This is really completely despicable, she realized. The Wizengamot can actually be bought outright like this—I mean, assuming that these people don't simply take the money and vote as they please, or abstain from voting. And these are the people who pretend to hold the moral high ground! I guess it's only when Tom is their opponent. They know Crouch is not one of them. But if a "group" comes to "court" them, they like that because it flatters them when Tom won't. It's disgusting. This experience is certainly showing me who I should not respect on the Wizengamot.

The Principles Committee did not have a public persona now. After the initial political advertisement in the Daily Prophet, Hermione had kept her dealings private. She had made sure not to use the same Muggle for her Polyjuice double more than once. Even if none of the Wizengamot were supposed to remember the names clearly, it was better not to rely entirely on a very subtle, very selective Memory Charm for secrecy. Best not to risk them asking each other too many questions about who, exactly, "Morgana Rich" or "Peregrinus Pearson" or any of the other ostensible representatives of the mysterious pro-Crouch dark money group were—especially since she intended to dissolve it after Crouch's challenge narrowly failed.

Tom studied the letter before him with a critical eye. Rosier's "espionage" on the Wizengamot had gone as well as could be expected. The fellow had, somehow or other, learned a degree of subtlety over the years. It was more than Tom would have expected of him when he was just a follower seeking out the strongest alpha to cower behind.

The old pureblood families, a majority of whom were Isolationist to some degree, seemed to have a burgeoning level of confidence in Caspar Crouch's bid—or Abraxas Malfoy's shadow bid, as the pureblood patriarchs and matriarchs on the court thought (correctly, in Tom's opinion). What was interesting—and profoundly unsettling—was that a growing number of radical Reformists were lining up behind Crouch.

The most extreme Isolationists wouldn't talk to Rosier, disparaging him as "Riddle's pet pureblood," but others—those more inclined to cross over and support Tom's initiatives sometimes—would talk to him. They also talked to those most recalcitrant members of their own families, and Rosier had learned over the years how to wheedle sensitive information out of them without their awareness of it.

The radical Reformists who were apparently gravitating to Crouch were being influenced—bought off, Tom suspected—by a mysterious group, or firm, calling itself the Principles Committee. None of Rosier's contacts knew who was behind it, though they all suspected it was a Malfoy venture, hiding its origins so as to not be distasteful to the Reformists. It would be quite easy to set up a little political organization like this. Whatever it was, it had placed an advertisement in the Daily Prophet and then had gone into the proverbial smoke-filled rooms to do its work. Whoever was behind it certainly knew that politics was about much more than slogans and catchphrases.

Malfoy had reasons for his opposition, Tom admitted—though they were obviously stupid and wrong reasons. He had a very large fortune, which he wanted very much to pass on to a single son instead of having to divide it or cut off any of his progeny. He also didn't like Tom himself. Two-faced shapeshifter, Tom thought angrily. In 1945, after that ugly business with the Black family, Malfoy had been one of the patriarchs to back away from it and claim to support Tom's career in the Ministry. That certainly hadn't lasted long once it became plain that Tom was not going to let Malfoy take him under his wing, and that he was determined to become Minister for Magic. It just goes to show, nobody can ever trust a Malfoy, he thought in irritation. Arcturus Black couldn't, and I couldn't either. They care about their own interests and that is all.

Malfoy was definitely backing Crouch as a puppet, and it was quite possible that this shady new group was also a Malfoy project. Tom was determined to find out—and before it purchased the rest of the undecided Wizengamot members.

A ding sounded through the air. "Urgent message from Minister Tom Riddle," the mirror above Hermione's office fireplace flashed in dark green letters. Hermione practically jumped from her desk.

Her researchers, with her eager personal involvement, had invented a special paper that could be sent through the Floo network instantly and without harm from the flames. The Floo Network Authority in the Ministry was working to expand Floo access to nontraditional outlets for homes that did not have fireplaces, so that they could use this system to communicate more quickly and securely. This promised to make owl post obsolete, which in Hermione's opinion was good news. Birds flying around with parcels were an enormous risk to wizarding security. There had already been innovations to the new technology, including whitelisting and blacklisting of senders, and charms to announce the sender.

She collected herself, flicked her wand, and summoned the letter to her desk, opening it at once. She let out a breath as she read it.

.

Hermione, you need to read this week's Quibbler. I know, the Quibbler—but you really need to read this one. I'm calling an emergency meeting of the usual crowd at lunchtime, and if you can make it, I'd like you to come.

.

Hermione's heart started to pound again. It didn't sound as if the magazine had uncovered her ownership of the Principles Committee—Tom would surely be a lot more aggressive than this, and he would not want to have it out with her in front of all his cronies, she hoped—but she did wish he had been a bit more specific about what was in the Quibbler.

She summoned her office assistant, Edith, to bring her a copy of the Quibbler. When she unrolled the magazine, Hermione instantly realized why Tom had called the meeting.

IS MINISTER RIDDLE A DARK WIZARD?

"Erm, yes," Hermione muttered cynically to herself. Fortunately she was alone in the office now. She proceeded to read the article, which was printed opposite a full-page, color, highly unflattering photograph of Tom. The photo depicted him in bright light, which made his face look angular and almost vampiric.

.

He appears shiny, squeaky clean, but does Minister Tom Riddle have Dark skeletons in his closet? The Quibbler has the exclusive scoop! Anonymous sources who attended school with Riddle inform us that as a prefect and Head Boy, Riddle used dangerous Dark curses to discipline other students for typical Hogwarts pranks and misbehavior.

"He never did it before other students, of course," says one former schoolmate of Riddle who chose to remain anonymous for his own protection. "But if he had someone alone, he would use all sorts of Dark Magic once he had that badge on his chest."

"He even used the Cruciatus on a friend of mine when he was in fifth year," says another former student.

Of course, the use of the Cruciatus Curse on a person is unlawful, and when proven, merits a life sentence in Azkaban. The student who alleges that Riddle disciplined another student with this Unforgivable Curse says that he cannot provide eyewitness proof of it, just the assertion of his friend, which is rather fortunate for the embattled Minister.

Curiously, it appears that the most frequent victims of Riddle's Dark Magic in school were fellow Slytherins in his year and the two years below him. All of the anonymous sources who came to the Quibbler to speak were of that cohort in school.

The Quibbler also has obtained photographic evidence of Riddle's involvement in the Dark Arts, which is printed on the following page. Observe the gaunt, angular appearance of his face in this photograph, and the gleam of scarlet in his pupils. We consulted with a Dark Arts expert, who informs us that—

"Dark Magic takes a toll on the body, producing physical markers that are mostly small and virtually unnoticeable in normal conditions, but this photograph does depict examples of these kinds of physical effects."

Prior to the accounts of Riddle's former classmates, the Quibbler held that Minister Riddle may be a vampire. We hold to that claim as a possibility, but we must also consider the possibility that Riddle is a Dark wizard. If this is the case, it opens many questions about the young Minister's meteoric rise through the Ministry—as well as the precise means that he used to defeat Gellert Grindelwald in 1945.

.

Hermione felt queasy suddenly. This—this really was not good. Some of the old crowd from Slytherin—or their family members—who had not allied with Tom were obviously trying to discredit him by whatever means they could. She rather hoped that there was nobody out there who did have an intact memory of Tom using an Unforgivable Curse. She also really hoped that nobody in the wizarding world knew enough about Horcruxes to figure out why Tom's pupils occasionally flashed red. The appearance of his facial structure in the picture was due to the bad light, but the eye detail was not. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of Albus Dumbledore. Even by the forties, he was "fierce" on the subject, according to Slughorn, and that was before he had any suspicions of Tom in the other timeline. But perhaps if he had not been given a reason to delve further into the topic… Hermione had not read anything in Secrets of the Darkest Art about physical markers, but there might be other sources….

Tom would have a plan, she realized. By the time of the meeting—two hours from now—he would have decided what to do.

Tom's forehead was creased in worry, and he seemed more inclined to grip his glass than drink from it.

One of Tom's associates that he had acquired at work spoke up. "Minister, just between all of us in this room… is there any truth in this article?"

Tom glowered. "Did I ever use Dark curses as a prefect? Yes. I did," he spat.

Vincent Rosier looked at the table, unable to meet Tom's eyes. Hermione was unsurprised at Tom's admission. It wouldn't do to categorically deny the entire report, and he knew that. There were probably too many people who had seen him doing that much, and they might well have memories of it.

"I did not, however, use Unforgivable Curses to discipline anyone," he lied through clenched teeth, staring across the table. "We are going to deny that."

He must be very confident that nobody has a memory of it, Hermione thought. Roland Lestrange definitely doesn't, but there is still Nott, and the younger Blacks… but no, Orion said they weren't getting involved in this, and he is the titular head of the family now that his father has been disgraced, so Cygnus and the others would follow his lead. Alphard still just wants to play Quidditch and Tom never had a problem with him anyway. Orion might have lied, but he didn't know who I was then, so he'd have had no reason to lie to me.

"Obviously, that bad photograph means nothing, and it's complete rubbish that there are 'physical markers' of using Dark magic," Tom scoffed. "The Lovegoods still think I might be a vampire—they won't rule it out—and I think that says all that needs to be said."

"So what are we going to do?" Hermione spoke up, giving Tom a meaningful and private look. "Acknowledge the Quibbler ourselves, or wait for someone to ask?"

He considered. "I'm going to wait to be asked. Treat it with contempt. If I make a statement without being asked, that would give it credibility in people's minds." He stared out at the rest of the table. "And we're going to retaliate," he said bluntly. "Vincent—I want you and Patrick to look into the Crouch rumor and find whatever you can."

"The Crouch rumor?" someone murmured across the table.

Hermione looked down. She knew what Tom was talking about. He had mentioned it the night before. It was ugly, and she did not like one bit that Tom was apparently going to pursue this. He was also convinced that Abraxas Malfoy was behind the Principles Committee. It made her very nervous about continuing with her own efforts. She was giving him a scare, all right, but this was getting nasty—and out of hand.

"There is a rumor that Crouch impregnated a pureblood girl as a seventh year, broke up with her because he didn't want to marry her, and she had to take silphium potion to—get rid of it," he explained. There was a hunger in his eyes. "I rather suspect it's true, and it would be devastating to his bid." He sat back smugly. "There is also a story about Malfoy himself that we should look into, but I'm less certain of that one. Allegedly, he had an affair with a Muggle woman after he was married. Not Imperius rape, but an actual affair. I'm not sure I believe it, but I suppose someone should investigate that too if there's time."

This is getting very, very ugly, Hermione thought as everyone left. This shadow campaign is really not having the effect that I wanted it to—either on Tom himself or on the legislation.

Lost in her own thoughts, she hovered behind as Tom took Vincent Rosier aside when everyone else had departed.

"Look up Nott, Avery, and the rest of the cohort," he hissed. "If they remember anything 'sensitive,' make sure that they don't after you leave."

Rosier nodded nervously and left.

"Minister!" reporters called to Tom as he exited his office and entered the Atrium of the Ministry. He glowered at the cluster of journalists with haughty disdain.

Barnabas Cuffe shoved his way to the front of the group and shouted above the rest. "Minister Riddle! This article in the Quibbler—"

Tom raised an eyebrow and smirked at the pack of quill- and camera-bearing media personalities. "Which part of it, Cuffe? I promise you I'm not a vampire, if that's your concern."

There were light chuckles from the Ministry employees who overheard the exchange, but Cuffe was persistent. "These claims that you used Dark curses on students as a prefect," he clarified.

"I, like most students at Hogwarts, did practice a variety of curses, and may have done so inappropriately at times as a schoolboy, but I never used the Unforgivables," Tom declared.

"What about the picture?"

Tom scoffed derisively. "My appearance in that photo is a marker of bad lighting, not Dark magic usage. It's typical of a publication that relies on poor photographs to claim that imaginary creatures exist and various people are secretly some other species."

"That's very true, Minister, that the lighting is quite poor, and I take your point about the Quibbler as well, but your eyes do gleam in that photo when it moves, and—"

"It's what flash photography does to people's eyes sometimes," Tom said airily. "You can see for yourself right now, in person, what I look like. This is ridiculous. And you'll notice that Lovegood's 'Dark Arts expert' doesn't have a name. If he had a legitimate affiliation and real credentials, Lovegood would have boasted of it. This is a desperate, pathetic attempt by my opponents to attack me." Tom shoved his way through the group of reporters and stormed to the closest Apparition point.

A few days later.

Hermione let her hair down and fluffed it with her fingers. She rinsed and spat into the sink, washing out the horrid taste of vomit. This was the second morning in a row that this had happened.

Could it be? Hermione wondered. I've been taking the potion—while I still can—but perhaps it could go bad over time. We've been intimate a lot these days, too. Despite her disagreement with his policy, she still wanted him as much as ever—possibly even more. It made her feel especially guilty that she was paying people to support his unofficial challenger, even if it was for his own good.

There was only one way to know. She pointed her wand at her belly and cast a diagnostic spell. The wand tip glowed green—not the harsh, lethal green of the Killing Curse, but a warm, healthy, fertile leaf green.

Hermione sank onto her knees again and closed her eyes. This wasn't what she had intended. She had meant to have two children. This one wasn't planned.

She rubbed her eyes as another idea flitted at the back of her subconscious. Could he have tampered with the potion and rendered it ineffective?

She instantly shoved that thought out of her mind. It was not a productive line of speculation to pursue. If he had, then she would resent having the confirmation—assuming he didn't just lie. If she asked him and he actually hadn't, he would resent her suspicion. No good could come of it. She was pregnant again, and they would have to accept and deal with it. She had not planned for this baby, but it wasn't as if she didn't want it now that she knew it was there. Those were two different concepts. He would be happy when he learned, she was sure—and after all, they did have room in the house. There was that spare room on the top floor, where Madeline and Virgil slept, that they had meant to use as an arboretum, but now it was the perfect room for this child.

I really should back away from the corrupt politics, she thought as she slumped against the bathroom wall. Now that was indeed an unhappy thought to pursue. Her objection to the Wizarding Renaissance Plan had never been personal, and it still wasn't. It was principled. She might be all right with her family continuing to grow, even if she hadn't planned it, but this was never about her any more than her very first political cause, house-elf enslavement, had been about her. The real problem was that she did not see any changes in Tom's attitude. No softening. He had a hunted, harried look these days, and he was obviously nervous that Crouch's campaign might actually succeed, but this fear was only making him double down on his plans, it seemed. It was depressing. What could be done to make him learn to compromise?

"Hermione?" he called through the bathroom door. "Are you all right?"

She opened her eyes. Might as well tell him now. She stood up, pulled down the hemline of her negligee, and steeled herself as she opened the door.

She forced a weak smile on her face as she met his eyes. He looked legitimately concerned for her, which made her heart thump. "I'm quite all right," she said. "I was just sick—"

"This is the second day."

"Yes, it is, and so I had a thought—well, to get to the point, I'm expecting again." Her voice suddenly wobbled. "We're going to have a third child. I'm not sure how, because I have been taking the potion, but we have been intimate a lot lately and I suppose any potion has an expiration date—"

Without a word, he enveloped her in his arms. "That's the best news we've had in weeks," he murmured against the shell of her ear. The fingers of one hand tangled in her hair, and his other hand caressed her upper back.

He would be so angry to learn what I've been doing, Hermione thought as he held her. I don't know what to do now. Isn't our family more important than politics?

Tom did not announce the pregnancy at once, preferring instead to wait for the traditional three-month mark, as they had done when Hermione was expecting Madeline and Virgil. No one except the two of them knew. The spells that could detect a child's gender would not work quite yet, so they could not even start to decorate the extra room. It was a piece of news that they knew but could not act upon in any concrete way yet.

The only difference that it made in Hermione's day-to-day activities, she thought wryly, was to prevent her from having a drink to calm herself.

She gazed at her now well-worn list of undecided radical Reformists on the Wizengamot. Ten votes, if no one had changed their mind. There were two names she had starred, witches in the "radical" cohort who were nonetheless the closest of that set to being moderates. They had supported Tom before, and if he lost them, he might get the jolt of real fear that he needed.

Sometimes it takes that, she thought. Sometimes a person can be afraid but mask that mild fear with bravado and stubbornness—until a tipping point, and then the person will make a compromise.

I have enough money left in the Principles Committee vault to do this. Two more names, two more bribes, and that will be all. If it doesn't work, then so be it; I am through with this. This campaign is vile and I am not going to contribute any further to it.

She folded up the list and banished it to her locked desk drawer.

"Mr. Crouch! Mr. Malfoy!" called Barnabas Cuffe.

The two well-dressed wizards stopped in the Ministry Atrium and regarded Cuffe with the same angry sneer that Tom had done when Cuffe confronted him with the Quibbler accusations.

"Do you have a statement to make concerning these allegations about your personal lives?" Cuffe asked breathlessly.

Malfoy's hand twitched on his heirloom snake-headed wand holder as if he wanted to curse Cuffe. Crouch scowled.

"My statement," Malfoy sneered, "is that it is a complete and utter lie, and this Muggle woman was very likely paid to make her claims to Witch Weekly."

"Mr. Malfoy," Cuffe persisted, "she claimed that you have a magical tattoo on—"

"The story is false," Malfoy said through clenched teeth, his face bright pink.

"I also deny the rumor," Crouch said, "and furthermore, Cuffe, let us be honest about where these rumors are originating. The Minister is having his people make scandalous but false assertions about us to divert attention from his own hypocrisy. He wants couples to have three children, but how many does he have?"

There were audible gasps throughout the Atrium. At that point, Tom himself strode out of the elevator. He met Crouch's eyes, gave him a death glare, and walked over to the small circle.

"In fact, Caspar, we are now expecting our third child. I was going to wait to make this announcement, since Hermione is only about a month along, but if you are going to call me names, I'm afraid I'm forced to break with tradition." He gazed at him. "And I must ask you to keep your personal scandals—and Malfoy's—out of the Ministry and not bring me into it… or else admit what you're doing. If you want to challenge me, admit that's what you're doing and explain to the wizarding community why. Your 'campaign' has no clear rationale for even existing."

With that, he walked to an Apparition point and disappeared with a pop.

Hermione had bouquets of congratulatory flowers on her desk, but this was not the way she would have preferred for her pregnancy to be announced. After Tom had mic-dropped the news in the Atrium, they had scheduled a formal, proper announcement, replete with smiles and subtle displays of affection. It wasn't even that these displays were fake; Tom really was happy about the news, but with any event like this, there was an undertone of masquerade with him.

She rather suspected that the rumors about Crouch and Malfoy were both true now. She had personally met the Muggle woman purported to be Malfoy's former mistress, who did not seem to be lying. No one had been able to dig up the witch who had supposedly been Crouch's old flame, but the man himself got flustered and tended to protest too much whenever the subject was raised with him.

The allegations in the Quibbler about Tom are all true as well, she thought. He did use Dark curses, and not just in his zeal as a schoolboy eager to try out new magic. He also used Unforgivables. And the flash of his eyes is most definitely a sign of Dark magic. Thank goodness nobody knows exactly what kind.

The pretty red-haired lady smiled and handed over two purses of gold to the sharp-faced witches across from her at the table.

"I rather hate voting to remove Riddle," one of them commented, "but if you're certain that it's the only way to roll back this restriction on witches…."

Hermione had been very pleased, at last, to find someone who disagreed with the Renaissance Plan for the same reason she did, and wanted to discuss the issue itself rather than engaging in vile personal attacks.

"I'm sure, unfortunately," she simpered in her Polyjuiced form.

"Well," the other witch said, "I agree that it's a shame—and I don't entirely trust Caspar Crouch, you must understand." The two Wizengamot witches exchanged looks. "We'll vote for him—conditionally—but if something arises that changes our minds, we'll return these… gifts."

Hermione was not sure if her nausea was another bout of morning sickness, or if the pair of editorials in the Daily Prophet had set this off. Tom's exhortation to Crouch to justify his candidacy with policy criticisms had certainly borne fruit.

.

There are several reasons to be alarmed by the Minister's policy proposal, Abraxas Malfoy wrote.

For one, Minister Riddle uses Muggle science to make his case. Can we assume that science concocted by Muggles is even correct? I think not. The Minister then has the presumption to tell our pureblood families that they are not having enough children, but the great families have sustained their names for centuries, so who is he to tell them otherwise? Meanwhile, he is bringing in hordes of people with no magic and with Muggle values. One must wonder if his real motive is to forcibly mix the blood of our most ancient lineages with that of people who know nothing about their own great-grandparents. Of course, given his and his wife's own muddied heritage, this is probably exactly what he wants to do. Are we all, in some future generation, to be made half-bloods? The Minister seems determined to remake the wizarding world in his own image.

.

"What bloody difference does it make if science comes from Muggle scholars?" Hermione snarled to herself. "That makes it questionable? Mathematical equations are what they are. You can't argue 'well, we've kept our name alive for centuries, so therefore we're also replacing the population.' It just doesn't follow."

And then, after the anti-intellectualism, there was the rest of Malfoy's piece. Muddied heritage? Because he knows "Mudblood" won't be printed in the newspaper? Forcibly mixing blood? He seems to have confused what Tom wants to do with what his own allies of convenience want to do. Weasley was the one to propose punishing wizard-witch marriages!

But Abraxas was a Malfoy, so this sort of rhetoric was to be expected from him. It was a bit surprising that he would show his hand so openly while he and his protégé were still trying to court people on the opposite side of politics, but Hermione supposed that nobody was in the dark about Malfoy's opinions anyway.

What was a great deal more unsettling—and possibly behind the nausea Hermione felt—was Caspar Crouch's own editorial. He had not formally declared a challenge to Tom, but this was still obviously throwing his hat in the ring.

.

We should rejoice in the decline in the magical birth percentage among non-magicals, because assimilating Muggle-born outsiders—however necessary—has ever been a security risk for us. On that, at least, Minister Riddle and I agree, but that is the extent of our accord. My friend Mr. Malfoy reminds us that these Squibs that the Nationalists have brought in have the values of Muggles—because they are! By exploiting our culture's respect for magical ancestry, the Minister and his faction create shades of gray where they do not exist: One either has magic or does not. He is concerned about population decline, so he brings in Squib families of Muggle-borns for their wizarding blood, and now he wants wizards and witches themselves to have larger families… but is a smaller population truly a problem? Minister Riddle asserts that a culture of single-child families leads to a death spiral as a people, but perhaps we will merely produce a smaller and therefore closer wizarding community, easier to govern and keep safe. Let us return to traditions that have worked instead of being subjects for the green young Minister's social experiments.

.

He agrees with a lot more of Malfoy's opinions than he ever let on, Hermione realized, reading between the lines. There was as much said against Tom's Muggle-born family policy as there was against the Renaissance Plan… and Crouch, too, had profoundly ignorant and anti-intellectual views about the numerical population analysis.

This person—the person I have been using Advance money to support, money that could have been spent on research—does not understand mathematics, or he thinks that because it's a "Muggle" field of study, it doesn't apply to wizards. He doesn't acknowledge that Squibs are different from Muggles, he doesn't really like involving people like me in the wizarding world either, and he thinks we'd be better off if we were smaller—and probably all interrelated, just like the pureblood families themselves are. Malfoy accused Tom of wanting to remake the wizarding world in his image, but Crouch definitely wants to do that. I don't like Tom's plan, but I cannot ally with anti-intellectual blood purity supporters, even as a feint.

Suddenly something else occurred to Hermione. I'm not the only one who is going to conclude this, she thought in panic. These wavering Reformists, the ones I had to bribe, are going to see what Crouch truly is and they'll stop supporting him. The bid will collapse.

Hermione gripped her desk for support.

Now what am I going to do?

Tom crumpled the newspaper and tossed it into the fire in the Minister's office. Crouch was either a dithering idiot, risking his Reformist support this way, or he had locked down enough votes on the Wizengamot to make his stand at last. Tom hoped it wasn't the latter.

I'm going to find out once and for all who is behind that damned group, he thought, rising from the plush chair. He gripped his reliable yew wand and stalked out of the office.

When he entered Gringotts, the goblins were currently accepting purses of gold from a pair of prune-faced witches that Tom recognized from the Wizengamot. He stood aside and apart, waiting for their transaction to conclude, but he could not avoid hearing one of the women say, "We just can't support Crouch, you know, and we promised the lady we'd give her money back if we changed our minds."

So you'll take bribes, but only if you already agree with the person you're being paid to support. That's somehow even worse than just being for sale, Tom thought with disdain. However, here were two people, at least, who would not be backing Crouch after all. That was a good thing.

The witches hurried away, looking a little frightened when they noticed Tom, but he did not respond to them. When the counter was available, he strode to it and pasted a dark smile on his face.

"Minister Riddle," the goblin clerk growled. "What can we do for you today?"

Tom tapped his fingertips on the counter. "I have private business with Gringotts today."

He was shown into a side office with a door. The goblin at that desk, a vice president of the bank, regarded Tom with the disdain that many of his race showed humans.

"I intend to know who opened the vault that belongs to the 'Principles Committee,'" Tom said without preamble.

The goblin put his spectacles on and sneered. "I can't show you that record. We goblins of Gringotts protect the secrecy of our customers, even from you, Minister."

Tom leaned forward. "I don't think I made myself clear to you, Orgar. I intend to know who opened that vault." Before the goblin could react with his own innate magic, Tom withdrew his wand and pointed it at his head. "Imperio."

Orgar's face slackened. "Of course, Minister," he said, ambling to a file cabinet. He pressed his palm against the drawer to unlock it, then found the record in question. "Here you are."

Tom took the folder and began to read it.

His eyes widened and gleamed red for a moment. His stomach turned. His heart began to pound, and he felt a disconcerting mix of emotions flood his mind: shock, dismay—and anger.

End Notes: One more chapter of this storyline, and then I'll begin a storyline about Cold War-induced problems. Not to spoil the final chapter, but I do not intend to fully disenfranchise Hermione.