Notes: Hi guys, thank you once again!

I hate to do this, but I feel at this point that I need to. I am not sure if the story's recent dark turn—and the separation of Tom and Hermione—has driven off readers altogether, or if people are still reading but don't particularly like this stage of the story and just keep silent about that fact for fear of offending me. But whatever the reason, unlike the earlier parts of this fic, lately there just hasn't been that much feedback about specifics. I hate to be that person begging for reviews—I really do—and this isn't about my vanity or the review count. I just don't know what the feedback drop-off means—like, if I should tweak less critical details to make the story more palatable at the moment (I don't mean a course adjustment with the plot itself). I realize that this phase of the story isn't pleasant, and honestly, it's not supposed to be, but if you think I'm overplaying the darkness, please let me know. I do welcome civil, constructive criticism. (I promise, I will only chew out people for one thing: arrogantly and judgmentally asserting that the text depicts something that it objectively doesn't, and then using their incorrect reading to bash me/the story.)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Calm Before the Storm

Tom lay on his bed at Hogwarts brooding. His ritual on the first of May had certainly borne fruit; all of his Lords of Beltane—even more appropriate, he thought—had convinced their families to swear pacts with his mother except for Wilkes. The alliance with that family was probably inevitable, too. In that regard, he had made very significant progress toward one of his goals.

However, everything else seemed to be stagnant. He had made no progress toward finding the Chamber of Slytherin in the school. He had not been able to read any additional books in his family library, nor had his friends. When they were visiting him over the summer, he had told them to try to read the books that his mother had hexed against him, but it turned out that the hexes were not specific to him. He also had not been able to find the forbidden titles in the Hogwarts library. Tom wondered about that. He had certainly seen books about eyebrow-raising magic in the school library; why would information about English history be banned? The fact that the school was in Scotland was surely irrelevant; Tom had seen plenty of books about other periods of history. Who had kept these books out of the Hogwarts library, and for what purpose?

Is it that they are about the history of a family that is related to Slytherin? Tom wondered. And after Slytherin departed the school, the remaining Founders eliminated those references? Some of them are about Slytherin himself, too. Or is it that some of them talk about the legend of Arthur in a way that's highly unflattering to Merlin? Were the books about that ever in the school at all? He had no answers. One thing for certain, though, was that in Tom's view, the leaders of the school were not his friends or allies if they would keep those titles out of the library. They could not possibly have an agenda that overlapped with his, in that case. Perhaps Hermione was right and it was not an affront to him that Mayor Longbottom swore Hogsmeade to the school, but it also was not a development that he should cheer. It was quite probable that the High Masters of the school had had their own agenda ever since Slytherin left—and where had he gone? What had become of him? Had he left at all, Tom wondered darkly, or had he been murdered? It seemed unlikely, but in the absence of the truth, he would have to wonder. Tom wanted to know just what everyone was hiding from him, especially his mother. He would not even have to look to the school for these books if his mother had allowed him to read them at home.

He was also increasingly annoyed with Hermione. She was being very stubborn, and Tom felt that what had been a principled stand, albeit one that he disagreed with for pragmatic reasons—"you may not touch me until you apologize"—had become something more hostile and personal. He still smarted at her reaction to his questioning that summer about his surprise at her friends' arrival. She had instantly assumed that he was blaming her, when that had not been his intent at all. He really had just wanted to talk with her again, but not if she was going to issue ultimatums and presume he was some sort of enemy.

Does she? he thought. She also seemed to be actively against his ambitions now, instead of merely thinking them dangerous or objecting to the way that he treated her in order to gain allies for them. He did not forget that she had told him in that same conversation to stop talking about the Chamber of Slytherin and his descent from Mordred. That sounded very much as if she opposed his goals in their own right, a change that occurred when she spent more and more time with Potter and Longbottom's group. Tom resented it. What did she think would happen after their wedding? Did she really imagine that he would approve of her going to clandestine meetings for purposes that did not help the family—her family, at that point? Perhaps he could not legally stop her from it, but why would she want to do that instead of supporting him? Even leaving aside the domestic discord that it would create, if he achieved all his ambitions, then she would be a queen someday, and witches would be revered equally to wizards as they had been in the ancient clans.

Tom could not think of a satisfactory answer. To his mind, Hermione was acting very much like an opponent. Two years ago, she had been so dutiful, so instinctively loyal to her betrothed—even if she had barely known him then—that she would deliberately get herself placed in his Hogwarts House despite it being not a great fit. He was the one who hadn't liked the restrictions on his freedom. Tom reflected on the irony that their roles were reversed, and Hermione was now pushing him away and consorting with other people without his presence or approval, including young wizards—a decision that would have been all but unthinkable two years earlier. She can block me from Legilimency, too, he thought with disquiet. What if she was doing this, despite the expected wedding, even despite their previous intimacy, because she was considering plans of her own—plans that no longer included him?

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Oh, Percy!" Molly Weasley exclaimed, throwing her arms around her favorite son. "I'm so proud of you!"

Percy Weasley—Sir Percival—awkwardly hugged his mother in return, patting her back. "Thank you, Mother."

"This changes everything!" she exclaimed.

He smiled thinly. "I am the newest knight," he said slowly. "I don't want to make too much of the position."

"That may be, but you are also a wizard—I would wager the only knight with magic," she declared. "That matters. I am sure that he will take notice of you very quickly and you will rise past the Muggle knights in no time."

Percy smiled again. "I hope so."

"Whom to tell, whom to tell," she said to herself, gazing around the room thoughtfully. "The Longbottoms, certainly."

"Yes," Percy said. "What is the code they use for us? 'Robins'?"

"It is, and you have brought back such valuable nourishment for our cause," she declared. "Now we just need Bill to return…."

"I hope he can come back with more than goblins."

"So do we all, my dear." Molly Weasley turned her head sharply at the sound of scurrying. "Another one?" she said, scowling at the sight of a rat's tail disappearing into a hole in the wall. "One would think that the owl would catch it."

"Mother, Errol is too old to catch much of anything. I intend to buy another owl, though, when I leave."

Hogwarts.

Hermione rose from the table, her robes falling in smooth, silken lines down her form. She was going to another Friends of the Founders meeting, and Ginevra had told her that this one would feature some important news about her own family. She wondered what it might be. One brother was trying to negotiate with goblins abroad, one was interested in Welsh dragons…. Preoccupied with her own thoughts and speculations, Hermione did not even notice Tom's approach.

Walking quickly, he reached her and took her arm firmly. She whirled around to face the person who had accosted her and found herself staring into a pair of dark, familiar, and very angry eyes.

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked him.

"Are you going to another meeting with Potter?" he snarled.

She recoiled in a rush of sudden anger. "I am," she snapped, yanking her arm away from him. "What of it?"

"I asked you this once, and I will ask you again now: Whose side are you on?" His voice was low and dangerous, almost inaudible even to her.

"I am on the side of people who treat me as I deserve," she said, matching his tone, glaring at him. "People who don't grab me in the Great Hall as if I am an enemy."

"You aren't an enemy," he said slowly, his voice still very quiet. "You're just refusing to see certain things, and so is Potter. Their families are up to something—"

"If you really believe that, then why don't you come to a meeting yourself and try to deduce what you think it is?"

Tom considered that. "Perhaps I will." He thought for another moment. "Yes. I'll do just that." He offered her his arm, this time in a gentlemanly manner. Reluctantly she took it.

Hermione made her way to the seventh floor. It felt odd to make this walk with Tom, but she was both relieved and righteously satisfied that it was finally happening. He would surely see for himself that the Friends—her friends—were not up to anything untoward. Perhaps this would be the beginning of a reconciliation between them, and maybe even an alliance between her friends and his….

They reached the Come-and-Go Room. Hermione gazed at the expanse of wall, thinking of the group. In a moment, the outline appeared, then the door itself. She took the handle and opened it, revealing the meeting room and all of her familiar associates. There was Harry, surprise evident on his face at the sight of Tom. Longbottom was next to him on one side and Luna Lovegood on the other. There were Macmillan and Susan Bones. Ginevra was nearby, with her brother Ronald—and a blonde witch that Hermione did not know clinging to his arm.

"Riddle—that is, Lord Thomas," Harry corrected himself at once, coming to the door. "Welcome. I am so glad you joined us this evening." He gave Hermione a smile of real pleasure, apparently convinced that they had resolved their differences.

"Just a minute," said Ron Weasley, petulance in his voice. "If Lavender and I had to sign that parchment, so does he. He should not get an exception because he's noble."

"Sign a parchment?" Tom repeated, his gaze shifting at once to Hermione.

"Yes," Harry said, as Neville Longbottom brought it. "Everyone has to sign it if they attend our meetings. It says—"

Tom's eyes had already fixed upon one signature in particular. "Hermione signed this?" he sputtered.

Her heart sank. "It was ages ago!" she exclaimed. "It only means that we won't tell Malfoy allies about the group—"

Tom jerked his arm away from her and stared at her in outrage. "You signed a loyalty oath?" He gazed at the offending parchment. "That bears a hex! You took a magically binding loyalty oath to these people—" He stared at each member of the group in turn, disgust blossoming on his face, culminating with a glare at her that broke her heart all over again. Then he turned to Harry. "No, Potter. I won't sign it." He sneered at Hermione as if she were something dirty, then turned in a furious swirl of robes and marched away, his footfalls sounding in the hallway.

No one dared speak. Hermione felt like crying, but she was not sure if it was from sadness or anger—or both at once. Well aware that the others were avoiding looking at her, she made her way across the room to a chair and sat down.

A catty snicker broke the silence. Hermione turned around to face the blonde girl—Lavender, Ronald Weasley had said was her name—who had uttered it. Ron took her arm and smirked.

"Erm… good evening to everyone," Harry said, ascending to the front of the room. He exchanged a quick, sympathetic glance with Hermione. "We have a new member tonight, Lavender Brown. A special welcome to her." He cleared his throat. "And now, Ginevra Weasley has a report to give the group about her older brothers."

Ginevra rose. "Brother," she corrected with a smile. "Just one of them—so far." She took her place behind the podium and gazed out. "My brother Percy—Percival—has been knighted by His Majesty the King. He is spending some time with our family, but shortly, after Yule and Christmas, he is going to leave to begin his service."

There was a smattering of congratulations. "What lord is he going to serve?" Ernest Macmillan asked.

Ginevra looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry—they told me, and Ron, by owl. I don't actually know that part. They, my parents, also said that the news must not go any farther than this group, which is sworn to secrecy, of course. They are concerned that the family could be targeted if it were widely known."

"Is he going to war?"

Ginevra grimaced. "I don't know. He may be."

"But what purpose does it serve for wizards to fight Muggles' wars?" Macmillan exclaimed. "I apologize, Miss Weasley, and you too, Ronald—no doubt this is a great thing for your brother."

"I don't know if it has anything to do with our group," she said, flustered. "But it does raise the profile of my family, and anything that helps our families must be good."

"That's true," he said, mollified. "Well—Godspeed to him. At least he can protect himself against the Muggles' weapons with magic."

As she took her seat again, Hermione thought about what she had just heard. She could not pinpoint how, but that report had unsettled her in some intangible way. What if Tom was right? she thought uncomfortably. That sure sounds as if the older Weasleys are hiding something. Sir Percival must be doing something that could get him harmed by the Malfoys—but what? She reflected on the fact that Tom had thrown his tantrum about the innocuous "loyalty oath," which only referred to keeping information from Malfoy's supporters. What would he have made of this? She rather wished he had heard it now.

As in the previous meeting, they had a period of magic practice. Hermione enjoyed this part. It helped her with her own goal of achieving mastery at the end of her fourth year at Hogwarts, the same time that Tom was expecting to be acclaimed a master—though it would be five years for him. She felt that she was getting better at dueling, under Harry's tutelage. He seemed to have a natural knack for it.

After that, the young people mingled. Hermione quickly attached herself to Luna, who approached her sympathetically. Luna was peculiar, but she often said exactly the right thing, and this was no exception.

"I'm very sorry about Lord Thomas," she said. "He should be kinder to you."

"I agree," Hermione said unhappily.

"It's a shame that he was not here for Ginevra's report," Luna continued. "I think it is all very suspicious, don't you? Not Ginevra herself, but her parents' secrecy."

"Watch what you say about my family," snarled a male voice. Hermione and Luna turned to face Ron Weasley, who was hand-in-hand with Lavender.

"Oh, hello, Ronald," Luna said. "I only meant that it was odd that they didn't tell her. Do you know what it means, then?"

"It means just what she said," he replied. "Lord Malfoy would target my family. He grants titles to wizards and witches, right? He was the viceroy for all things related to the magical population. So if they went above him, to the Muggle king himself, he would not like that."

"Perhaps not," she agreed, "but he too is subject to the Muggle king. There is nothing wrong with what your brother did. And besides, could they truly keep it a secret from him for the rest of your brother's life?"

Emboldened, Hermione spoke up in support of Luna. "She makes a good point. How could your brother and your parents keep it a secret indefinitely? There must be more planned."

"So what if there is?" he said defensively. "We are all enemies of Malfoy, here… aren't we?"

Hermione stepped forward, her eyebrows narrowed. "Do not ever insinuate that I would be an ally of Armand Malfoy. On the day I first met him, he humiliated me by making me perform wandless magic on command and then denying me admission to this school. He tried to keep me out of Hogwarts even after I was betrothed to Tom. Members of families allied with him have insulted me, attacked me, tried to kill me—you don't know anything about what Armand Malfoy and his supporters have done against me." She clutched her wand threateningly.

Ron was silenced for a moment, but then he recovered. "Yes, I know about your 'betrothal,' of course." He patted Lavender's arm. "Riddle has mocked my family for renouncing their title when Malfoy first came to the country, but the advantage of that is that we don't have to marry people who don't like us for political reasons." Lavender beamed soppily at him as they sauntered away together.

Hermione raised her wand. Furiously, unhappily, she cast a charm to summon several robins into existence—not real robins, but magical similes. They were good enough. With another swish of her wand and a silent curse, she sent the birds speeding at Ron and Lavender, their sharp beaks out. As the smug young couple fought off the little monsters, Hermione stifled a sob and fled the room.

Weasley couldn't be right, could he?

Tom was furious. He paced back and forth in the bedroom, reflecting on what he had just learned. Hermione had sworn a loyalty oath! She had sworn a vow of secrecy about the Friends of the Founders—supposedly one that pertained only to Malfoy allies, but if that were really true, then why had she never told him about this little detail? What had happened at these meetings that she had never revealed to him? What had happened at this very one after he had left?

Tom had struggled for some time with Hermione's part-Norman ancestry, but eventually he had decided that people could not help their birth, that she was part-English as well, and that the real problem was with Norman lords who stole the seats of the rightful English nobles and then proceeded to oppress the English people. Hermione's parents did not fit that description. He had managed to make a certain degree of peace with his own conflict about the matter—but now he was wondering if she was disloyal to him because she was part-Norman. He did not like to consider the possibility, and he was not remotely convinced that it was true, but the idea had wormed itself into his brain at last.

Mother knows that we have been intimate, he thought. I hope this theory is wrong. I hope that Hermione's allegiance to this group has nothing to do with her ancestry, because an allegiance based on that will be very hard to change. God knows I know about that. But if it's right, then I can't possibly marry her. I will have to avail myself of Mother's promise to me… but would she still grant it, since she knows about us? Tom felt ill at the thought. For the first time ever, he wished for a brief moment that he had never touched her.

It may not be true, he reminded himself. I should not assume it is. He realized that he needed, somehow, to find out… but how? Hermione could block his Legilimency. If he asked her, she would be deeply affronted. She certainly wouldn't admit it. How could he find out?

If I can somehow find out what this group is doing, then that might answer it for me, he thought. Maybe if I could corner one of the others for Legilimency… or eavesdrop….

Tom sighed and ran his hands through his black hair. He would have to do that. It was distasteful, in a way, but in his view, it was unavoidable. He smoothed his hair and walked over to his desk, where the notes and bottled memories from his own private meetings lay concealed in a drawer. He opened it and took them out.

The Wilkes family still has not sworn a pact with my mother, he thought. Perhaps I should look elsewhere for disloyalty. A push first, though. He rose from the chair and went to the common room to find Rob Wilkes.

He met the wizard halfway down the corridor for the boys' dormitories. Wilkes was excited, waving a letter that he had apparently received by owl.

"Riddle! I have great news," he exclaimed.

Tom paused in the hallway. "And what is that, Wilkes? Quietly, please."

"Or silently," Wilkes said, grinning as he passed the letter to Tom for him to read.

Tom accepted it and began to scan it quickly. His face lit up as he read the scrawls of Wilkes's father, Raymond. What an incredible coincidence! he thought. This ambition really is charmed, even after summer has ended. He recalled the beautiful image of the crown-like shape ascending the Beltane flames. He returned the letter to Wilkes and smirked. "This is great news indeed," he said. "I'm very glad that your father has seen reason."

"The alliances are complete," Wilkes observed.

"They are," Tom agreed, "and they are going to change everything." He touched the medallion on his robes, changing it from a solid black face to the Celtic Triquetra. A frown passed over his face at that. He drew his wand, pointed it at the object, and—his brow furrowed in concentration—murmured a lengthy spell. The tip of his wand showered emerald green sparks upon the medallion, and the design on it changed to the first symbol Tom had created for his group: Celtic knotwork surrounding the Ouroboros, encircling a raven bearing a crown.

Hermione was miserable. Part of her mind assured her that Ron Weasley was merely being childish and cruel because he had taken a dislike to her—a dislike that seemed to be based in envy—but then she remembered that fit that Tom had thrown upon seeing the list of signatures. He has already suggested before that he thinks I am disloyal to him, she thought. This might just confirm it in his mind.

Then, too, there was the possibility that Tom was correct about the Friends' families. What was Ginevra's brother doing as a new knight, and why had her family not told her such basic details as whom he would be serving and where? Was it really just as Ron had said, that Armand Malfoy would be offended that a wizard had obtained a title directly from the king? It was certainly not illegal… the Conqueror and his first successors may have delegated that royal power to Malfoy when it came to wizards, but that did not mean that the king could not do it himself for wizards anymore if he saw fit.

Could Ginevra's brother have deceived him about the fact that his family would not swear to Malfoy? Hermione wondered. That would certainly explain wanting to keep it quiet. If Malfoy found out about this knighthood and told the king about that bit of family history, it might lead to big trouble for the Weasleys—but only if he cares about Malfoy. He may not… but that does not mean that a king who is at war would take the trouble to protect the commoner family of a single knight if Malfoy threatened them. Perhaps they do want to protect their family from Malfoy rather than from the Crown… but as Luna pointed out, that cannot last indefinitely. Whichever it is—protect themselves from the king, or from Malfoy—there must be some long-term plan to get rid of Malfoy, since he was the one their forefathers refused to swear to. Hermione sighed. Tom was correct, then. The Friends had another agenda.

But based on what she currently knew and deduced, Tom was not correct that the agenda was opposed to him. He wanted Malfoy gone too. There was no reason that Hermione knew of for why they should not be allies, and it would make Lady Merope's position much more powerful if they were.

Was it time for her to swallow her own pride and make amends with Tom? She considered it for a brief moment before deciding against it. She had done nothing to him. He had treated her in a very inappropriate way for any witch, but especially for the woman he was supposed to marry. He had continued for several months to make suspicious, distrustful accusations to her, questioning her loyalty to him and his mother. He had not apologized for any of it, and she was not entirely convinced that he believed even now that he should. If she went to him without holding to her word, he would take that as confirmation that he had done nothing wrong. In the Muggle world, the world she had grown up in, Hermione realized that she might have done it anyway and accepted it as her place as a woman. But her horizons were broader, and she was a witch among other witches and wizards. She knew differently now.

She rose from her chair and left her bedchamber, passing through the Slytherin common room without speaking to anyone. She made her way upstairs to the Great Hall, sure that there would be a few people seated at the tables despite the fact that it was not mealtime. She was correct. There was Harry, and Luna was next to him.

Hermione made sure that they did not seem to be in a personal, private conversation before taking her seat next to them. Luna gazed at her. "Hello, Hermione. You look sad."

"I'm all right, Luna," she said.

"It's because Lord Thomas said those things," she said astutely. "He was very wrong to act that way. He should not say things like that to you at all, but it was especially wrong of him to do it in front of other people."

What could she even say to that? It was all too true.

"Yes, Luna," Harry said, giving Hermione a pained look. "That may be, but I'm sure this isn't making Hermione feel better."

"No, it's exactly what I needed to hear," Hermione said at once. "I was questioning things in my own mind before I came here, because"—she lowered her voice to nearly a whisper—"it seems that he was right that some of our associates' families are up to more than they say they are."

Harry looked uncomfortable and a little bit irritated at that. "Luna and I were just talking about that," he said, "and I wonder if my parents and godfather are part of it. Their letters lately have been very… cagey. I cannot explain exactly how, and I doubt you would notice unless you had corresponded with them a lot before and knew them very well, as I do. There's just something different about their recent correspondence. I also wonder about Neville's parents. If it has to do with"—he spoke in a hush—"removing Malfoy, then they almost have to be part of it. No one family can do that by themselves. I wonder what Sir Percival is really doing."

"So do I," Hermione muttered. "I wish I could find out."

"It won't be long before we visit our families for the winter holidays," Harry said. "I can see what I can find out from mine."

"And I from my father," Luna added. She gazed at Hermione. "You are fostered with Lord Thomas's mother, aren't you?"

Hermione nodded.

"You can send me owls if you become lonely," she stated. "He should be kind to you again, like Harry is kind to me, but if he isn't ready to do that yet, then please don't let him keep you unhappy."

Hermione still did not quite understand Luna, and her blunt manner of saying exactly what she thought was still a bit jarring, but at times like this, she was very glad that Luna did.

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire.

Lord Armand Malfoy smiled arrogantly as he surveyed the small family dining room. His son Abraxas and his loyal ally Rodolphus Lestrange were there, enjoying his fine wine, as they discussed what to do next. Lestrange had come with good news: The plan for the Riddle situation was in motion. Hopefully, one problem would be resolved relatively soon.

However, despite the good tidings that he brought, Lestrange looked displeased about something. Malfoy could not work out what it might be, even as he studied his fellow nobleman's face. Lestrange appeared wary and suspicious about something. Malfoy glanced at the goblet before him. It held only wine, but perhaps Lestrange had figured out what "potion" he drank and disapproved of it. He would not have thought Lestrange capable of either thing, though. The fellow was not that bright, for one, and he certainly was in no position to get on a moral pedestal. Malfoy knew full well that Rodolphus took his pleasure from half the Muggle wenches in his fief's village, which was a disgusting thing for a pureblood wizard to do—but in a way, who could blame the man for looking outside his marriage for that? Lady Bellatrix might be half Rosier, with good blood from civilized people on that side, but the other half of her family was from this barbarous country where wizards still let witches defy them. Perhaps their magic was sometimes equal in power to that of a wizard, but it was more volatile and prone to emotional outbursts. Lady Bellatrix was proof enough of that.

Well, if Lestrange disapproved of his potion, he had best keep it to himself, Malfoy resolved. He was the high lord of the wizards and witches of all lands that the Muggle king—or his client monarch in Scotland—ruled. His word was law now. Really, there was little point in even having a Wizards' Council anymore. It was a relic of that primitive, rambunctious institution that they had called the Wizengamot. The time was drawing near when he should just dissolve this Council and place the magical people of this land under the authority of a single lord.

He decided to propose just that. "I have been thinking," he began, his sharp gaze darting from Abraxas to Lestrange. "When your grandfather first came to this country with me"—he nodded to Lestrange—"along with the others, we decided upon certain things in order to placate the natives. Their Wizengamot would be replaced with a Wizards' Council, they would be allowed to keep their titles if they swore to me, their school could admit Mudbloods if they were pledged to wizards or witches of known magical blood… but eighty years have passed, and most of my generation has died, as well as some of the one after mine." He smiled at Abraxas in a way that was almost a leer. "They have had time to get accustomed to the new order, and most of them have grown up knowing nothing else."

"That is all true, my lord," Lestrange said deferentially.

"Well, I think the time has now come to consider dissolving the Wizards' Council. We have already made the biggest move to do so, of course, with the law granting lawmaking power to each of us—in other words, to me. I realize that this would be a loss to your family, Lestrange, but I would offer you some compensation for it."

Abraxas had listened to this speech with growing indignation. His father might be right that most of the witches and wizards currently alive knew nothing else, but they did know about their country's magical traditions. Tradition was extremely important to magical people. They also knew the reason for the Wizards' Council. Abraxas did not believe for a second that his father could dissolve the Council without objections from the populace, even though he personally would someday benefit from it if it happened. Unless Father has other plans for me, he thought bitterly. What was that ugly look about when Father had spoken of most of his—Abraxas's—generation having died? Did Father really intend to extend his own life indefinitely, even if it meant seeing his own offspring die of old age first? And what would Lestrange—and Arcturus Black, once he learned of it—think of having the little power they held taken away?

Lestrange did not seem at all upset by the proposal, much to Abraxas's surprise. "I would support you in that, as in all things, my lord," he simpered. Abraxas was disgusted; Armand smirked.

"The compensation that I have in mind is for you to ascend to being my loyal advisor," Malfoy said. "As for Lord Black… frankly, he has been trying for a while to thwart me. I have only now realized it. He balked at granting Caractacus Burke permission to wed the blood-traitor Lady Riddle. I am sure that it has to do with the fact that he is of native blood. I will not punish him, but he will not be granted compensation." Smugly Malfoy drained his goblet. "I do not know how I had failed to notice it until recently. It's as if there has been a fog about my mind that suddenly lifted. I wonder if he was cursing me… or perhaps one of the elves."

Lestrange's eyes were glittering, and he was hanging on every word. His sharp gaze darted from father to son. Abraxas suddenly felt very uneasy. Lestrange cannot be trusted, he realized in a flash.

This plan to dissolve the Wizards' Council could not stand, though. If Lestrange—damn him!—really did support Father "in all things," then he would support him after a change of heart. If not, then… Abraxas would have to dirty his hands. It was unpleasant, but sometimes unpleasant things were necessary. Lestrange did come from a family that was short-lived in the male line. He himself was approaching the age at which his father had begun to decline. There were things that could be done.

When he and Lestrange finished their goblets of wine, Lestrange rose to leave and bowed to Lord Malfoy and Abraxas. He passed through the doors. Abraxas did not act until he could no longer see Lestrange's long shadow.

"Obliviate," he whispered, pointing his wand at his father's back.

The silhouette of Lestrange suddenly reemerged from the shadows, outlined by the candlelight of the stone hall. He leered at Abraxas, whose blood ran cold at the sight.

"I thought so," Lestrange said, smugness and anticipation suffusing his voice, somehow turning the three syllables into the toll of a bell the morning of an execution.