Notes: Thanks again so much! I'm glad that didn't drive too many people off. Fetish material is going to be a very personal matter of liking or disliking.

Chapter Twenty-One: Important Alliances

Tom and Hermione quickly got dressed and tidied themselves up so it would not be obvious to the general public what they had recently been up to. He gazed at her admiringly as she brushed through her hair. She caught him gazing at her from his reflection in the mirror and turned around, an eyebrow raised in surprise. He stared back, meeting her gaze unashamedly, and grinned. The fact that he did not object to being caught openly admiring her brought a smile to her face. Maybe there was a reason to remain with him other than just to try to keep him from turning darker….

They exited the Room of Requirement, each feeling generally content. And about five seconds after the magical door vanished into the wall, that contentment shattered.

"Someone's up here," Tom said, his face darkening into a glare. He grabbed the wand out of his pocket.

Hermione heard footsteps as well somewhere around the nearest corner. She hurried to catch him as he strode forward angrily.

They rounded the corner and found themselves face to face with Roland Lestrange. He looked startled and very alarmed, very much like someone who had just been caught doing something he shouldn't have been doing.

Tom flicked the wand at him, his features set. Lestrange was flung against the castle wall. Tom held him there with magic, his wand fixed in place, glaring at him.

"Tom," Hermione said. "This is a little exce—"

"What are you doing?" Tom snarled at Lestrange.

Lestrange avoided Tom's gaze. "I'm not doing anything, Riddle! I just got lost." He forced out a chuckle. "This damned castle."

Tom scowled. "What were you even looking for up here?"

"Nothing specific," Lestrange said at once. "Look, Riddle, if you meet Green up here, it's really none of my business—"

"You're damned right it isn't," Tom snarled. He flicked the Elder Wand again, and Lestrange sank to the ground. He got on his feet quickly and stared up at Tom. "I had better not see you prowling around without good reason again. Get out of here."

Lestrange gave a frightened but angry glare to Tom and Hermione before dashing off.

Tom turned to her. "He's lying."

"You don't say." It was fairly apparent to Hermione as well.

"He can't know that this is—where you stay," Tom said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. "The Fidelius Charm and all. But if he saw you—or me—spending a lot of time on this floor, he might have taken to lurking around."

"For what possible purpose?"

Tom considered. "Probably something pathetic. He thinks we rendezvous on this floor, evidently, from what he said. He probably thinks he can get tawdry photographs, or report us to Slughorn or something stupid like that." He scoffed. "Sluggy would just take that as a reason to start issuing wedding invitations."

"What?"

Tom gave her a sly look. "It can't be a secret to you what the old Slug hopes for. He dropped allusions to it even when all I wanted was to violate and defile your mind."

She gave him a withering glare at his verbiage. He smirked back defiantly.

"I do remember what you're talking about," she said, frowning. "I didn't like it at the time."

He stopped walking abruptly. "At the time?" he repeated. "Am I to presume, then, that you wouldn't mind it now?"

Hermione scowled. "I don't know whether you're joking, disdainful, or serious about the topic, so I'm really not inclined to have this discussion. If you want to talk about Lestrange, that's different."

Tom shrugged and continued walking. "I'll keep an eye on him. If he shows his ugly inbred face up here again, he'll wish he hadn't. I am sure he's more loyal to his daddy and Arcturus Black than to me, but if he starts to actually act against me, he'll regret it." The invective and vague threats were uttered in confident staccato.

Hermione turned away. She almost wished she hadn't changed the topic.

All Hogsmeade, it seemed, wanted a moment with the heroes of wizarding Britain, and they were utterly indifferent to whether or not said heroes desired such attention. Hermione had hoped to get drinks in the Three Broomsticks, but that was entirely out of the question, she learned when an approximately 45-year-old witch took a flash photograph of Tom without his consent and a balding middle-aged wizard kept offering to buy her drinks. His fingers twitched around the Elder Wand, and she had her own in hand as well by the wizard's third unwanted offer. She wasn't sure which one of them Tom would curse first, though. Probably whichever of them I don't curse myself, she thought darkly.

At last she thought she might have understood what Harry went through all his life—and then she felt a pang. If she succeeded—and it appeared very much as if she would—he wouldn't be a celebrity in the future. He would be a normal young wizard whose concerns were schoolwork, friends, and Quidditch.

Hermione did not want to think too hard about Harry or her other friends. If she had to live out these years—and it seemed increasingly probable that she would—then it was just too painful to contemplate. The Time-Turner had anchored her existence in this time, so she couldn't create a paradox no matter what she did. It was a brute fact even if she didn't make the trip "next time," and even if she didn't exist in the new timeline. Dumbledore had still seemed confident that Fawkes would transport her to the past the "next time around," but if that happened, then her friends and family would lose her. It might be better if she weren't even born in this timeline, she thought sadly, tramping through the dirty snow to the Hog's Head for some privacy.

Tom opened the filthy door for her, bringing her mind back to the present—and very welcome it was. She stepped into the dingy pub.

A few shifty glares met her and Tom's eyes, but their owners quickly returned to their drinks. It seemed that even in 1945, this pub catered to drunks and people who did not wish to be seen. Hermione headed toward the bar with Tom, relief filling her face as no one reached for her arm or flung themselves in front of her.

They settled in the farthest corner of the bar, quite a distance from the door or windows, if anyone could see through the dusty glass well enough to identify them. The bartender leered down at them. Hermione swallowed a knot as she realized that it was Aberforth Dumbledore, albeit much younger-looking than she had ever seen him.

"You two had better not bring that circus in here with you," he grunted rudely. "I don't want it in my pub."

Hermione winced, terrified for a second that Tom would take personal offense and try to hex Aberforth. But to her surprise, he met Aberforth's glare with a smug one of his own.

"We're in here specifically to escape it," he said.

Aberforth grunted. "The usual, then?"

"Yes, and also for Hermione."

"Wait, what did you just order?" Hermione cut in as Aberforth turned away. "I didn't know you came in here. You never visited this place with me before."

"I used to have the Knights meet with me in here. And I ordered Ogden's Old," Tom said. "Appropriate, given that I'm going to be working for his descendant."

She scowled. "Do you know that or are you just assuming? I haven't received any owls from the Ministry."

Tom gave her an arch look but did not answer. Aberforth shoved the rocks glasses before them and bustled off, clearly of the mind that it was best to leave the two celebrities in peace rather than draw attention to them by hovering. Tom sipped his whiskey.

"I asked you a question, Tom Riddle."

"Keep it down," he muttered. "And, fine—I have had an owl from the Ministry."

Hermione sucked in her breath, gripping her glass hard. "With a job offer?"

He nodded, regarding her face appraisingly.

She glared at him, then downed some of the firewhisky. "I haven't," she spat. "That's rather unfair. You told everyone that we dueled Grindelwald. They shouldn't know—"

He shrugged. "I'm sure you'll get one. Then, too, you must know that the Ministry have had their eyes on me for a year or two, thanks to Sluggy."

"What job did they offer you?"

One corner of Tom's mouth edged upward, and he was about to answer when a voice started calling out his surname.

They both whirled their heads around. Vincent Rosier was making his way toward their side of the bar, clutching a drink.

"Sit down and shut up," Tom snarled at him as he approached. "We're in here because we don't want everyone bothering us."

Rosier sat down on Tom's opposite side. Hermione regarded him suspiciously. He was a short, slight boy, with brown hair the color of his sister's. He wasn't unattractive, and if she hadn't had the unfairly handsome Tom right next to her—or been involved with such a manifestly possessive person—or had an unpleasant history with Rosier, he might have been nice to look at. But all those things were true, so instead she fixed him with a disapproving glare.

"Well?" Tom said. "Have you finally decided to pick a side?"

Hermione's ears pricked up. Clearly something had been going on behind the scenes that she was not aware of. She recalled that the morning after Tom had murdered Pollux Black, he and Rosier had been chatting in front of the hearth in the Slytherin common room. She had not thought much about it at the time, but maybe that was the beginning.

"My dad has," Vincent Rosier muttered in an undertone. "He's done with Mr. Black—politically, of course. The thing with my sister, that's still on. But"—he lowered his voice even more—"he never agreed with Black and Lestrange about Green." He gave Hermione a furtive look. "And then when Mr. Black kept insisting that Mr. Pollux had to have been murdered—well, all due respect to him, but my dad thinks he's slipping into the old Black pattern."

"The old Black pattern?" Hermione repeated.

"Lots of people believe that there's a streak of madness in the Black family," Tom said impassively, taking a sip of firewhisky. Rosier glanced worriedly around the pub to ensure that no one was listening, and Tom smirked faintly at Hermione and winked while Rosier wasn't looking.

Hermione wanted to slap him. This was classic Riddle, setting up a situation that would play off people's existing prejudices—some of which apparently had some basis in fact. She could not help but recall the screaming portrait of Walburga from her own time, or the self-destructive behavior of Sirius—or the manic sadism of Bellatrix.

"Well, anyway, my dad and Malfoy have decided to support you—and Green."

"Even knowing we aren't purebloods?" Tom said snidely. "Shocking."

To Hermione's surprise, Rosier met Tom's gaze with his own. "No offense, but some of us have figured it for years. This isn't about—look, Riddle, if what you reported about Grindelwald is right, then even Mudbloods are really half-bloods. And—that's all right. That's fine. They are descended from wizards, but it just… skipped generations."

Hermione was disgusted. Releasing the information that Grindelwald's researchers had found had indeed produced the effect she had hoped for—a slight adjustment in attitudes among some of the pureblood extremists—but only because it forced them to fit Muggle-borns into a category that they could somewhat respect, not because it actually changed their prejudices.

Well, she thought philosophically, at least it did something.

"I mean… the Blacks, some of them really have been mad," Rosier said in a low whisper. "There was that old witch who wanted to be able to hunt Muggles. I don't like Muggles, but that's just crazy. Wizarding Secrecy would be…." He trailed off. "The point is, my dad and Malfoy—and I—want you to know that we are not with Black and Lestrange anymore and we support your career in the Ministry."

Tom regarded Rosier haughtily. "I'm pleased to know that," he said. "Now, my question for you is, does Lestrange know it?"

"I think he suspects."

Tom nodded. "I'm not surprised. I am going to call a meeting in a few days, because I want to find out who might have replaced your family and the Malfoys in Black's group—and find out where everyone's loyalties lie," he growled. He gave Rosier a wry smile. "You chose well." He finished his drink and wrapped an arm pointedly around Hermione's waist. "You understand, too, that this means there will be no disrespect of any kind shown to her."

"Of course," Rosier said hurriedly. "As I said, my dad thought Mr. Black was wrong about her some time ago. And I'm sorry," he said perfunctorily to Hermione.

This entire conversation had been reminding Hermione increasingly of listening to Draco Malfoy. Vincent Rosier's "pledge" had apparently been based on orders—direct or implicit—from his father, and it did not impress her. From the brief disdainful looks she caught on Tom's face, it wasn't impressive to him either. Still, she accepted Rosier's apology with a forced smile. He looked relieved, like someone who had just been interrogated, and he finally pushed his glass forward on the bar and scurried off.

Once he was out of the pub, Hermione turned to Tom with a raised eyebrow. "It's fascinating what you get up to behind my back. That didn't surprise you a bit, did it?"

"Nope," he said with a grin.

"You didn't tell me."

He shot her a level gaze. "You weren't even talking civilly with me until we paid Grindelwald a visit, for one. And for another, I knew the direction it was taking, but apparently the little twerp needed the final push from Daddy."

"And that's all right with you?"

"Vincent Rosier is a follower," Tom said disdainfully. "He follows his father's lead, he followed Lestrange, and now, because his father is no longer with Black, he wants to follow me. He is a sycophant."

"And you trust him?" Hermione said in disbelief.

"Trust?" Tom repeated with a smirk. "Hermione, this is politics. Of course I don't trust him in the way that you mean. But in the short term… yes. I suspect he wants to be my 'lieutenant' of sorts. He knows I'm going to be in DMLE, and he really wanted a job there and probably thinks ingratiating himself with me is his best bet."

She frowned. "And if he switches sides eventually?"

"I don't think he will, but I'm good at reading people, and he's unsubtle. Besides," he said with a shrug, "if I'm going to be in politics, I can't treat everyone with the true level of contempt that I feel for them. I need… associates."

Hermione lowered her voice to be inaudible to anyone else. "I understand that, but I can't say I'm thrilled that you're still enlisting the people you called 'parasites' and 'troglodytes' before. In my timeline, they changed your views."

"As you heard, the opposite is happening in this timeline. Rosier chose to follow a known half-blood and to say something accepting about 'Mudbloods.' This is because I have chosen to consolidate power within the system that Rosier and his ilk respect. As an outlaw, my only power would be in gathering a following, so I'd have to adjust my views to please their base little impulses. In the system, I am the one with the power to shape views."

Hermione frowned, but it was a contemplative frown. She actually felt rather relieved. "That does make sense," she acknowledged.

"I'm going to be Minister," he said smugly. "And to do that, I'll have to cultivate delegates. Of course I don't trust Rosier as anything more than an ally of convenience, and I certainly don't intend to let any of the idiots change my mind. I'm not fifteen anymore, a desperate little outcast trying to fit in." He regarded Hermione with a strangely deep look. "I'm guessing that's all I ever was in your timeline."

Sometimes he had an insight that was scarily profound, she thought. "That's… not a bad way of putting it," she admitted. "It's good that you're going to be more than that."

He preened.

Then something else he had said triggered a chain reaction in her memories. "You want to be Minister," she continued. She fixed him with a level gaze. "What do you think you're going to be first? Before Rosier turned up, you were about to tell me what job you had been offered."

He smirked once again. "Well," he drawled, "I've actually had more than one position discussed. The Head of International Magical Cooperation had one of his aides owl me… but of course, my ideas fit best in Magical Law Enforcement."

For a moment, Hermione contemplated the jaw-dropping irony and hypocrisy of Tom as an employee of that department.

"Ogden knows, and he's… deciding where would be best to place me. They'll probably get to you after I'm settled."

The meeting of Tom's "Knights" took place Wednesday night in an unused classroom in the dungeons. Hermione was determined to make an appearance, if only to show these entitled boys that she was not just Tom's girlfriend, but was fully involved with his plans. He was a bit surprised when she turned up, but a grin quickly formed on his face.

"It's good that you kept your robes on," he murmured, running a hand down her wide sleeve. "We always wear robes. It's more wizardly."

Tom kept the lights very dim in the room, and as the boys filed in—all wearing their school robes—the flickering candlelight did provide a very atmospheric environment. They sat down in desks at the front of the room, while Tom stood in front of the teacher's desk.

"You stay next to me," he whispered into Hermione's ear. "You are above them."

Eager little Rosier sat at his desk and gazed at Tom exactly like a conscientious student. Hermione stifled a laugh at the thought. If Tom hadn't blotted his copybook with Dumbledore so completely, he might have become a teacher instead of a politician.

There were only three other attendees. Hermione recognized Avery, whose presence surprised her. She would have picked him as the likely new ally for the Black and Lestrange cohort. There were also two sixth year Slytherin boys, Magnus Wilkes and Patrick Greengrass. Roland Lestrange was absent, as she had expected.

"Nott," Tom muttered under his breath. "He's the one."

Hermione gazed down the row. She had never made a point of remembering who all these boys were, because she did not like them and had never had any objection to avoiding them as Tom wished, but she did remember the usual number. And now that he mentioned it, she noticed that Claudius Nott was indeed the other missing Knight.

"All right," Tom said, scowling. "We are called to order. If Lestrange and Nott show up, they are late. Does anyone know if they intend to make an appearance?"

Rosier spoke up. "They don't."

Tom's fingers gripped the Elder Wand instinctively. "Very well. Nott's father is with Arcturus Black and Pierre Lestrange, I presume."

Rosier nodded.

"We are at a crossroads, then," he continued. He took Hermione's arm. "The four of you have shown loyalty to me by attending. Rosier informs me, in fact, that Black and Lestrange—senior—are still opposed to me, even after the defeat of Grindelwald by Hermione and me. The time may come when the four of you will have to choose between supporting us politically or supporting Black and his cabal. You know my former plans, and you know how they have changed. Can I expect your allegiance?" He stared at each boy in turn in a way that made Hermione almost shudder.

Rosier nodded at once. "Of course," he replied quickly.

Greengrass and Wilkes also offered their support. Avery hesitated.

"Is there a problem?" Tom asked coolly.

"I… I don't want to be against you, but I just… I mean, I feel like I started some of it by bringing up Dumbledore's friendship with Grindelwald last term," he hedged. "I'm sorry, Green," he added in an aside to Hermione.

"Then to make amends, you should want to be fully on my side rather than neutral," Tom said.

"I don't know if I even want to be in politics," Avery muttered. "My dad told me that Mr. Malfoy just wanted to concentrate on his business affairs and starting a family. I don't think I want anything to do with the Ministry, after all this."

Tom stared levelly at the boy. "I certainly don't want my associates to have the reputation of not wanting to be where they are," he said. "If you don't want to be in the Ministry, then you'd best find another way to support me. You do owe me for spreading false rumors about Hermione."

"I understand," Avery gulped.

Tom stared straight ahead. "Anyone else have stipulations?"

The other three boys shook their heads quickly.

"Good," Tom said, his lips curling into a dark smile. "I will remind you—you are agreeing to support me over the Black alliance, if it should ever come to that." He reached into his pocket and withdrew a parchment. It contained a list of names, each followed by a blank line for a signature.

Hermione averted her eyes from that parchment. It contained a variant of the hex that she had put on the membership list for Dumbledore's Army. Telling him about the idea wasn't one of her proudest moments, but Tom had wanted to subject them periodically to Legilimency to ascertain their continuing loyalty, and she had not cared for that at all. He had been quite impressed with her idea. She wasn't sure if it should be considered a compliment.

The boys signed the list with varying degrees of eagerness. Tom rolled the parchment back up and placed it in his pocket with a satisfied smile. He dismissed the meeting.

Hermione turned to him as the boys filed out. "I support you too," she said quietly. "I should sign." It seemed only fair that she too should be under the threat of the hex. She had been in fifth year.

"Absolutely not. You aren't my subordinate," Tom said at once. "And I don't require a loyalty oath from you to trust you. You know that. You know all my secrets." He leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead.

She wondered if she should have pressed the issue, but it was probably pointless, and in any case, his words made too much of an impression on her.

From that moment onward, Tom regarded Roland Lestrange openly as an enemy. Claudius Nott was also apparently on Tom's enemy list, though most of his venom was reserved for Lestrange.

"Nott's father is a blood-purity fanatic," Tom said dismissively. They were in the Room of Requirement, and Hermione was getting ready for a Slug Club dinner while Tom expounded. "He wrote a book about what families were 'truly' pureblood and which ones were not, in his opinion. My illustrious mother's line made the cut. They might have bred with their own nieces and lived as low as Muggle gutter trash, but by Merlin's staff, their blood was pure."

Hermione shuddered, remembering what Harry had once told her about the house of Gaunt. "So Nott is another one who's just following his father," she said, focusing on that instead. She fastened a strand of silver beads behind her neck.

Tom nodded. "Once they launch their own careers, that might change. Especially once I start there," he added.

"But Lestrange—"

"Lestrange is a special case," he said. "He doesn't like you, and he really dislikes me. He was the first one to try to bully me in my first year, and the only way I could get him to stop was by showing him superior force—and superior magic. That's how it has been for over six years. Some ancestor of his was Minister, and he thinks that entitles him to the job when he wants it even though his magic is pathetic."

"Fortunately for me," Hermione muttered, remembering the time Lestrange used the Cruciatus Curse on her in the hallway. She extended her arm to him. "Shall we?"

They left the Room of Requirement and headed downstairs. As they approached the lowest level, they heard rapidly pattering footsteps ahead. Tom quickened his pace, a frown forming on his face.

At the ground level, they reached the person pattering. It was Lestrange. The frown on Tom's face deepened threateningly.

"Walked down the stairs pretty damn fast, didn't you? Like you wanted to get away? You'd better not have been lurking around again," he said in a menacing tone.

Lestrange glared back. "Or what, Riddle? You don't own the flipping castle."

Tom advanced, drawing the Elder Wand. "I hoped you would have learned at age eleven not to challenge me. It seems that your skull is hopelessly thick, though."

Lestrange turned to Hermione with a sneer. "No, you are hopelessly arrogant. You think that because you have a few no-name Ministry bureaucrats in your corner, and Slughorn looks away when you go up there to fuck your girlfriend like some Muggle slag—"

Hermione's eyes popped. Furious, she reached instinctively for her wand to hex the arsehole. Tom was faster.

He slashed the Elder Wand through the air. Lestrange was pinned to the wall again, and this time it was with a curse that hurt. He moaned, trying to clutch at his gut, but his arms would not move.

"You really don't want to finish that comment," Tom growled. "In fact, you've said too much already." He flicked it again, and Lestrange groaned louder.

Tom's life dots were red, Hermione noticed. So did Lestrange.

"What the hell is wrong with your eyes?" he managed to get out.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

Tom dropped the spell, and Lestrange sank to the floor. Tom regarded Lestrange with unease, turning the knobby wand around in his hands. His pupils continued to gleam scarlet, and his face was expressionless.

"Tom—?" Hermione said hesitantly.

He directed the wand at Lestrange, who was staring out in evident fright. "Confundus." Lestrange's face slackened, and his eyes became unfocused.

Hermione felt a surge of relief that Tom had not cast anything more than the necessary, and without being told. Then she noticed that he was still staring at Lestrange, who gazed back at him in confusion.

"Yes, I think so," he said under his breath, almost as if talking to another person. He raised the wand. "Ava—"

"Tom!" Hermione exclaimed. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

Tom stopped halfway through the curse. He blinked. His face cleared. He looked down at the wand, sudden concern filling his features.

A second later, Slughorn rounded the corner. Tom's eyes, now normal-looking, widened in alarm at what he had almost done. If he had finished that curse, Slughorn would have witnessed him killing a classmate. He shot a wary glance at the wand before going to his teacher.

"Professor, I don't think Lestrange will be able to make it," he said at once in earnest tones. "We found him here, in this state." He stepped aside and gestured at the Confunded Lestrange, who stared back at Slughorn with an idiotic grin on his face.

"Oh dear," Slughorn said. "Yes, you and Hermione should go on to the dinner. Ogden is there—you should sit with him, of course—and I'll see that Lestrange goes to the infirmary. Unfortunate, that."

Tom turned to Hermione, who took his arm once more. She shot him a pointed look when they were out of Slughorn's hearing on the dungeon level.

"I know," he said, not needing elucidation. "It's that wand. But that's another trick I can recognize now. I'm sure there is an early stage of mastery in which you have to learn all its tricks." He sounded like he was trying more to reassure himself than her.

They entered Slughorn's office and took the seats that had been reserved for them with place cards. Sure enough, Tom's was on one side of Bob Ogden. Slughorn's own seat was on the other side. Hermione could not help but note the preference given to Tom. She remembered that Tom had been in correspondence with some Ministry wonks already, but she still had not. What were they waiting for?

Tom was introducing Ogden to her, his charm turned on for the benefit of his probable future boss. Hermione managed a smile when the Ministry official turned to her.

"It's quite an honor to meet you," Ogden said as they shook hands across Tom.

"Likewise," she said.

Ogden turned back to Tom. "Well," he said in a voice low enough that none of the other early arrivals could hear, "I've cleared it with the Minister—no trouble at all, of course, just a required formality."

Tom's eyes gleamed—white, Hermione noticed. "That's excellent," he breathed. "It's quite an honor and I do appreciate it."

"You've earned it," Ogden said.

"I'm sorry," Hermione cut in, "but you're talking about a Ministry job, I'm guessing?"

"Deputy Advisor to me—pending Outstanding NEWT scores in Defense, Potions, and a third subject, not that there's any danger of that not happening," Ogden said. He shot Tom a grin. "It's uncommon for someone to start at such a high-level post, but if anyone deserves it, it is one of you two. I've thought for some time that the Ministry needed younger blood in a few of the important posts, too—helps break up calcification."

Tom smiled modestly. Hermione knew better than to believe it was anything but a front.

"Well," she said in measured tones, "I'm certainly very happy for Tom. I was wondering, though—do I need to formally apply at the Ministry for work?"

Ogden looked confused. He gazed from Hermione to Tom and then back to her. "I—of course, if you want to start at the Ministry at once, I can consult with the other Department Heads and look into possible fits." His tone was suddenly very awkward. "Shall I do that?"

Tom cut into the conversation. "I'm sorry, Mr. Ogden. I haven't discussed everything openly with her. I was waiting for things to be… finalized. At least, finalized pending my NEWT scores."

Ogden looked manifestly relieved. "Oh, I see. Certainly."

Slughorn entered the office, and all private conversation fell to a hush. Things were starting to make sense to Hermione, however, the more she thought about it, and she resolved to have a little discussion with Tom as soon as she could.

End Note: There is an illustration for this chapter on my Tumblr: betagyre-penname DOT tumblr DOT com /post/146375895406/illustration-4