Chapter 15 – London – January 6th, 1944

Helen exited The Langham hotel in London, her mind reeling from the meeting she'd just attended, the car was waiting out front and the driver opened her door for her. As she entered and sat down, she replayed the recent events that brought her there in the first place. It had been nary a day after the new years gala she'd attended that she received an invitation in London from a prospective client who wished to remain anonymous until the meeting. She'd agreed, although, in retrospect, she probably wouldn't have had a choice to begin with, which only mildly infuriated her.

Upon entering one of the hotel's conference rooms, who does she meet but the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill himself? The meeting began with clipped introductions, and signing, on her part, of confidentiality agreements, before diving into negotiations of arms and ammunition for an apparent Allied Forces planned invasion. She'd been told that there had been a minor disagreement with her predecessor, Thomas Riddle, who had been uncooperative to the idea of not being paid for his contribution until the war ended.

She'd been told that, originally, upon the deaths of the Riddles, the British Government had every right to seize assets of Riddle Arms, however, her presence at the new years gala had given him an idea. That despite Thomas Riddle's unpatriotic behaviour, that he, Churchill was willing to negotiate with the heir of Riddle Arms, as well as it's current stand-in regent, herself, in a bid to save their assets in the case of contribution to the war effort. She had pointed out that she had been helping the war effort regardless with donations of munitions to Eighth Army since late October, on top of regular sales, but it was simply waved off as if her contributions as a woman were insignificant.

She'd agreed, regardless of lack of choice in the matter, though annoyed by the sexist treatment she received. It was unlikely anyhow that she would have declined, even though after living abroad, her sense of nationalism was a bit rusty, she still had many reasons to want this war to be over. Her most paramount being a young Tom Riddle, who was currently sitting comfortable back at Riddle manor, and since her peculiar meeting with Maisie, she'd done her best to avoid him, for a multitude of reasons.

She remembered when she'd first met him at the start of the break, he was certainly a handsome lad, who looked eerily like his father, but with the eyes of his mother. She had pegged him for a cunning and intelligent individual at first, but the more she spoke to him, the more she could see a type of blankness in his expressions that denounced an internal cruelty she'd been all too familiar with, as she'd recognized it in her own father.

Her father, Edwin Riddle II, had been especially cruel, and frighteningly intelligent, he had worked in tangent with his cousin Thomas, travelling to various countries to collect clients for Riddle Arms. When in Italy in 1898, he'd become obsessed with the teenage daughter of the Innocenti family, paying her grandfather an obscene amount of money to marry her. Sofia Riddle (nee Innocenti) had become Helen's mother, and to this day, Helen did not know if her very existence had even been consensual, though she could take a guess as her mother would have only been sixteen during her pregnancy of 1899.

Her father had eventually killed her mother in cold blood after finding out she'd been having an affair with one of the footmen. That was in 1916, and he'd scapegoated that very footman for her murder. Soon after, when Helen had finished her schooling, he'd forced her to go travelling to the United States and the Caribbean with him, in the middle of a war to gather more prospective clients to the Riddle name. He had claimed that if he'd left her, then she would 'whore' herself out like her mother, even though she'd never done anything to allude to such proclivities. She could say with confidence, that even though she'd been afraid and alone in Martinique, so very far from home, that she had been glad he'd died.

Scant hours later after her meeting with Maisie, around the time of dawn, having been unable to sleep, Helen had gone to inspect her daughter's textbooks in her connected sitting room. She searched, carefully, so as to not to wake Hermione, she looked for some explanation for what Tom had done to her kitchen staff that day in July.

It had taken her about a half-hour, Helen's hope that a defence text would absolutely contain details of attacks that could be defended from had proved to be a correct assumption, as she'd found her answer in Hermione's Year 7 Defence Against the Dark Arts book.

Under the chapter of 'Mind Magics', Helen had shuddered at the implication, she'd found the section on 'Obliviation' to be informative. She'd continued to read the rest of the chapter, and had become rightfully horrified at some sections, such as 'Legilimency' and 'Imperius', that the later had been labelled as 'unforgivable' had been laughable, as to Helen, it all seemed unforgivable.

The idea that Tom could read her mind just by looking into her eyes had almost sent her into a homicidal rage. She'd taken to avoiding eye contact, or simply avoiding him altogether, it chilled and incensed her, how was she to protect Maisie, who was a sole witness to his supposed crime, if he could just pick that information from her mind? How was she to protect Hermione?

Helen was many things as a woman, shrewd, courtly, and perhaps a bit stiff and proper, but what she was not, was stupid. She knew the look of interest on a man's face when considering a woman he found desirable, she'd seen that look in her father's face when looking at her mother, again in Antoine's eyes when directed at herself for the length of their marriage, and she'd seen that look in Tom's eyes towards her daughter.

Anytime Hermione entered the room, regardless of what she was wearing, or if her hair was particularly tidy or not, she had Tom's almost immediate and full attention, and Helen noticed. Normally, as a mother, this would be seen as a bonding moment between herself and her daughter, but in this instance, it had filled her with dread. That a potential murderer, if Helen's theory was proven to be true, who had actual magic at his disposal, wanted her daughter, what could Helen possibly do to save her?

Her immediate idea was to send Hermione away, Helen had maintained passive contact with her maternal family in Italy all throughout her time in Martinique, that she was positive Tom couldn't know about, though with the war, that idea was currently impossible.

Furthermore, Florence, where the Innocenti family was based, had been bombed back in September, and though she knew they survived, she couldn't afford to gamble with Hermione's life by sending her there, not while it was occupied by German forces.

Helen had sent a letter to General Montgomery of the Eighth Army which was stationed to invade Italy, back in October, offering munitions and supplies personally, if a rendezvous could be arranged. Her contact then changed to Lieutenant-General Leese in December, and now more than ever, she wanted to continue supporting this war effort in the hopes that should it end, she'd have more freedom to protect her daughter in the coming future.

As for Hermione, Helen despaired for a moment, her girl had just found a potential career path, and she was also so excited about her new boyfriend, a Ronald Weasley, who Helen had yet to meet, but hoped to soon; she would be ripped from this little life she'd been creating for herself if Helen sent her away for her safety. She also worried that even if she did send her away, would Tom find her? Was there magic that could help him do that? She worried about her own life as well, would Tom kill her? Certainly, he would if she acted so blatantly against him.

Helen watched the countryside and towns passed as they continued the drive back North to Little Hangleton. She couldn't help the pervasive thought that she was overreacting, what if it was nothing? What if she was potentially uprooting her child's life again on a non-issue? What would Antoine do? What would he think?

She barely restrained a smile, Antoine would have gone off the rails just at the idea of Hermione having a boyfriend, he'd always joke:

"You can have a boyfriend at forty-five, maybe."

No, she was sure. She thought once more to Tom's eyes following her daughter.

She was sure she was doing the right thing.

The Burrow – January 10th, 1944

Hermione stumbled out of the floo into the burrow, just barely catching herself on the back of the love seat that Ron was currently lounging on, his long legs dangling over the armrest, watching her with a goofy smile on his face. She leaned down and kissed him, his lips were soft, and she happily recalled how none of their kisses were as sloppy as that first one. He raised himself out of his lounge, he quickly grabbed her arms and before she could protest, pulled her over the back of the couch and onto his lap. She gasped and let out a laugh, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Stop, you're going to wrinkle my robes!" she joked, trying to detach herself, but he wrapped his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.

"Will you two get a room!?" Ginny exclaimed standing at the entrance of the sitting room, hand clasped over her eyes.

"My poor innocent eyes!" she cried dramatically. Ron let Hermione go and she bounced to her feet, but before she could palm her wand to straighten her robes, Ron had beaten her to it. She beamed at him while he turned his attention to Ginny.

"Quit jokin' or do you want me to tell mum how I caught you and Harry doing worse?" Hermione whipped her head from Ron to Ginny, a shock of scandalized laughter ripped from her mouth.

"You wouldn't," Ginny replied, horrified, her tanned skin paling, causing her freckles to stand out even more.

"Try me."

Hermione looked at the clock, noticing that Harry should be along any minute, as she was meeting his grandmother, Madam Euphemia Potter, today. Hoping to prevent the imminent sibling brawl, she piped:

"Who wants to help me study?" she ran her hand through Ron's hair to direct his attention back to her, it was loose today instead of in its regular braid. It was one of her favourite features of his, well, besides his hands. She snapped back to attention, face aflame at the direction of her thoughts, perhaps she was more smitten than she'd originally thought.

"'Mione, you know there's no test, you're just meeting Harry's granny," Ron joked, taking her hand from his hair and lacing his fingers through hers, kissing the inside of her wrist lightly.

She couldn't stop the smile that crawled onto her face, she really wished moments like these didn't have to end. Realizing she hadn't replied, she stuttered a response, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

"I-I know that, but you have to remember, I'm a foreigner, and refugee to boot, there are so many things about the law here that I don't know, that are just obvious to anybody born here." she looked at Ginny for some support, who had her head tilted upwards in thought, though it was Ron again who answered.

"I suppose you're right, well what's your focus going into law? Like I know Harry's granny specializes in immigration cases," he scratched at the bit of facial hair along his jaw pensively, and Hermione knew her answer immediately, the cause that she was passionate about.

"Oh, that's easy, I suppose Magical Rights and Freedoms, anti-discrimination and the like," she answered, thinking of the insults and hexes that had been thrown her way, as well recalling that nightmarish hellscape she'd been forced to endure just for existing in a space as nouveau-sang.

"Does that include beasts as well as beings? Like werewolves, house-elves, and goblins?" asked Ginny, and Hermione thought about it for a moment, before nodding.

"Yes, it would, France was a bit more ahead with those movements, but every book I've found here in Britain so far on Magical Rights, excludes them, and focuses generally on witches and wizards," she explained, before pausing.

"Wait, do you mean just elves? Or is there another sub-species of elf here, like a brownie or something?" she asked, momentarily confused.

Ron and Ginny just looked at each other, confused, before Ron answered.

"No, just house elves, did France not have any? They cook all the meals and do the laundry at Hogwarts," Hermione couldn't recall seeing any, but believed him anyhow. She then remembered something, and she snapped her fingers at Ginny to trace the thought.

"At Slughorn's gala, there were elves serving champagne, do you just call them house-elves?" Ginny nodded, the look of confusion on her face clearing.

"Yes, those were house elves," she confirmed, and Hermione felt a little less confused, elves worked in Beauxbatons too.

"Right, Beauxbatons paid elves to work there too-" but stopped at Ron and Ginny's incredulous faces, "what? What did I say?" Hermione asked worriedly. Ginny looked at Ron before hesitantly answering.

"Elves aren't paid in Hogwarts, or well, at all in the isles." Hermione just stared at her blankly, having trouble processing what she just heard.

It was that exact moment that Harry came through the floo, charming the ashes off his clothes, he raised a hand to wave, a '-lo' quietly left his mouth before reading the room.

"Okay, what did I just walk into?" he asked, looking to Ginny for answers, but it was Hermione who answered.

"I think I just learned that the UK benefits off of slave labour?" she asked, hoping one of them would tell her she was wrong and had misunderstood the whole conversation.

"House-elves?" he asked, and Ron nodded, still looking confused.

"I don't understand, I thought house-elves traded magic through their bonded wizards that allows them to live, and that they're happy to serve?" he asked, and Hermione remembered that the Weasleys had no elves, so she supposed it was understandable that they didn't know anything explicitly. Harry winced, before opening his mouth.

"Well, yes they do, and they use the magic they're given to perform incredible feats, but Hermione is right, they are still used as slave labour, with a lot of wizarding families hiding behind that fact to avoid paying them, and their behaviour is more of a learned traumatic response to being slaves," Harry answered, taking off his glasses to clean the lenses, a nervous tic of his.

"A handful of families do pay their house-elves despite there being no law that asks them to, but on the opposite coincide, many families get away with offering the bare minimum while living off the comfort they provide," he finished, replacing his glasses on his face.

"Has no one brought this horrible thing to the surface to correct? Slavery is heartless, and I do not believe all the people of the UK are so," Hermione asked, distressed.

"Oh yeah, it's been brought up loads of times in the Wizengamot, but it always gets buried by those who benefit the most of the practice, which is usually the super-wealthy families in the UK. Which is also ironic as it's those wealthy families that are the ones who could afford to pay their elves the most," Harry replied, taking a breath to continue, "I know a lot of this because my grandmother was one who tried to fight for it back in the early 1900s, but failed. Her and my grandpa Monty have elves, but they pay them." Hermione nodded, looking forward once more to meeting Madam Potter.

"Who are these wealthy families?" she asked, menacingly, if she ever met one, she'd give them a piece of her mind.

"Well, you slapped one of them," piped Ron, before counting on his fingers, "The Malfoys, Notts, Rosiers, Lestranges, Blacks, Averys, Parkinsons, Flints, Crabbes and Goyles, and I'm probably missing more, but those are the ones I can name off the top of my head," Ron finished, relaxing his fingers before reaching for her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles.

"So, all of Tom's friends," Hermione replied morosely, why wasn't she surprised?

"You call him Tom?" Ginny joked, braiding her hair loosely from her position on the adjacent couch.

"Well, I live with him, what am I supposed to call him?" she asked, confused, Ron just snorted.

"We're just surprised he doesn't make you call him 'lord' or something," he sniped sarcastically, Hermione restrained a smile again, she may have mentioned to them that he was a lot meaner than the image he put out to everyone else, and honestly, that seemed like something Tom would do, in her opinion. Harry frowned, taking a seat beside Ginny, placing her feet on his lap.

"I've heard some rumours, I don't know if there's any truth to them though." they all turned to look at him.

"There's word that he's vying for the Slytherin seat, as the only living descendant through the Gaunts," he paused, taking a breath before continuing, "Through those friends of his, he has almost three-quarters of the Wizengamot in his pocket to see him succeed." Hermione looked confused then she remembered that Harry was being trained to take the Potter seat.

"What?!"
"He's a Gaunt?"

These came from Ron and Ginny, Hermione vaguely recalled that the Weasleys had a seat on the Wizengamot, but it was currently held by an Ignatius Weasley, who apparently took the seat when his elder brother Septimus had passed while his sons were young, and refused to relinquish control to his nephew Arthur, though he had no sons of his own. All this information had been in the book that Tom had added to her curriculum pile for Magical Law: Pureblood Directory -The Sacred 28 by: Cantankerous Nott. Thinking of that book, she suddenly remembered that the name of the shack on the edge of the Riddle property was called 'Gaunt Shack'.

"Right! Tom's mother is Merope Gaunt, Maman's cousin Tom married her," she chimed in, snapping her fingers. She had wondered why the name 'Gaunt' had been so familiar to her when she'd read that book.

That book in question was a shocking and exclusionary piece of drivel, that propped itself up on the declared self-importance of the families listed. Not to mention is was horribly discriminatory that Hermione had a hard time taking it seriously. It was, however unfortunate, informative to how the British enclave was run: a shining beacon of nepotism and self-congratulatory behaviour that supported itself of the theoretical subjugation of non-magical people.

"You knew?!" Harry asked, shocked, Ron and Ginny turned to stare at her accusingly. She raised her hands in defence.

"I just knew the name, not the significance to the UK magical community, remember I'm just learning all of this!" she replied defensively, and all three had the grace to look ashamed.

"You're right, we're sorry Hermione, it's just the significance of someone taking a founder seat is huge, it has the most voting power in the whole caucus, any progressive bills we can officially say goodbye to," Ron apologized, explaining the importance.

"Why should one seat have so much power? I don't understand?" she replied, "give anyone too much power and they are bound to abuse it," she cautioned, realizing it was a feat in itself to name every corrupt monarch, president, prime minister...führer, remembering once more the world outside the magical one.

"Nobody is simply given that power, but Riddle is unique in that, for the first time almost in history, he is a sole descendant with absolutely no competition, besides an uncle in Azkaban, with beliefs that coincide with the ruling class, it's such an incredible boon for them that they might even ignore his half-blood status," Harry sighed, cracking his knuckles nervously, "a descendant needs to be voted in by majority, and Riddle has been collecting support from under our noses this whole time," Harry expanded, looking at his watch.

"And as interesting as this conversation is, we're expected at my grandmother's firm in ten minutes." he stood up, straightening his robes before leaning down to kiss Ginny quickly. Hermione felt arms around her waist and turned her head to look up at Ron, she turned in his arms, standing on her toes to peck him on the mouth, her arms around his neck.

"No wrinkles?" she asked, stepping back, Ron grinned and gave her a thumbs up.

"You look great, good luck."

She beamed at him before turning her attention to Harry, who dictated the floo address to her clearly, before flooing before her. She followed right after and came out in a rather wealthy looking waiting room, with walls that were a cream colour and complimented by multiple red accents. Cherry hardwood floors were polished to a shine, with a single expensive looking red Indian carpet, and matching cherry wood furniture, that gave the waiting room a very elegant feel.

She followed Harry until she came upon a door, supposedly to the main office, her friend knocked lightly, before softly calling out:

"दादी माॅं ?"

Hermione glanced up surprised at Harry, as she didn't know that he spoke Hindi, but was unable to voice her admiration because a voice answered through the door.

"Come in!" this was spoken in English.

Harry opened the door, allowing her to enter first, and she did so while thanking him. She turned her attention to the source of the voice to find a rather small, slim witch, with long grey peppered black hair braided over one shoulder elegantly. She had a warm medium brown complexion, complimented with deep laugh lines along her eyes and mouth that did nothing but enhance her genial expression. She had a vermilion red mark along the part of her hair, and her robes were a professional navy teal that she'd paired with a cream and robins egg blue sari.

Hermione walked forward and held her hand out, which Harry's grandmother grasped firmly, her expression friendly, yet scrutinizing.

"Madam Potter, pleased to meet you, my name is Hermione Granger-Riddle, Harry has told me a lot about you," she started, a little nervous, but otherwise determined to make the best out of this meeting.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Granger-Riddle, and believe it or not but Harry has told me about you too." a small smile worked it's way to the older witch's lips. Hermione glanced at Harry to find him looking anywhere but her, and she groaned.

"Please don't tell me he told you the slap story," she pleaded, who didn't hear that she slapped Malfoy? She was beginning to have her doubts that she'd ever live it down.

"He did," she responded, amusement shining in her dark eyes. She gestured her to sit, as she herself took a seat, and asked if Hermione if she was a tea drinker, to which she confessed that she wasn't, but if she offered then she would love some. Harry had sat down in the seat next to her, by this point giving her an encouraging smile.

"So polite," chuckled Madam Potter, "Sai?" she asked, and a moment later a small elf appeared in the office with a crack, she had blue robes on with many colourful decorated flowers and a variety of bangles on her thin wrists, remembering the earlier discussion, Hermione stiffened.

"Yes madam, how can Sai help?" the elf replied, voice sweet and high pitched.

"Masala chai for three please, and some of those biscuits you know Harry here likes." the elf turned, and upon noticing Harry, beamed and waved, to which he returned enthusiastically.

"Yes madam, Sai will be just a moment," before disappearing.

"You seem nervous upon meeting Sai," Madam Potter broke the silence, and Hermione chewed her lip briefly before answering.

"I only just found out about the roles elves play here in the UK, and I'm still disturbed by it," she explained, and the older witch nodded.

"Harry said you are from Martinique, it's understandable that you have such a visceral reaction to the practice," she spoke calmly, but Hermione did not agree.

"With all due respect, Madam, my background or where I'm from should have no correlation to my opinions or reactions regarding such a vile practice. I feel it is awful, simply because it is, not because I have any personal connection that allows me to be outraged," she spoke clearly, passionate about the matter. Madam Potter was smiling, something akin to approval shone in her eyes, she clasped her hands in front of her on the desk.

"Yes, you are correct and I apologize if I had insinuated otherwise, now tell me, what type of career are you looking for in law?" she asked, and Hermione took a deep breath, and began to speak.

She spoke of the injustices she'd witnessed both while travelling to Britain and while living here as well, she spoke of discriminating practices that should have no place in modern society, and she spoke of her wish to help people who could either not help themselves or had no one who would.

Throughout this, the tea had arrived, Harry listened to her just as intently as his grandmother, and Hermione took small breaks to drink the spiced tea, finding herself enjoying every bit.

She'd never actually had masala chai before, despite her home of Martinique having a considerable West-Indian influence, mainly because neither her papa, an avid chicory coffee drinker, and her maman, though a stout tea drinker, was picky with her black tea, had ever bothered to bring it into their home.

When she was done, her tea was done, and she could see the dusk begin to set through the window behind Madam Potter, that is, if it wasn't charmed. Harry was in a biscuit coma beside her, and his grandmother had a pensive look on her face.

"You make many excellent points, you are a very passionate individual, however, I can also see that you're intelligent and calculating." she tapped her bright red nail against the china of her cup.

"I would like to offer you an internship, provided you earn an O on your NEWT," she declared, and Hermione blinked, stunned, before snapping back to reality.

"Really? Yes! Absolutely!" she clasped her hands in front of her rather loudly. The sound woke Harry out of his power nap, and he jerked his head up.

"Wassat?" his glasses here crooked and voice groggy.

"Really, Harry?" his grandmother chided him, to which he ran a hand over his face and grinned sheepishly.

"Just like your grandfather, I swear." Hermione smiled, too excited to even say anything, she got the internship!

She couldn't wait to tell her maman.

Kings Cross Station – January 13th, 1944

She followed Tom up the ramp at King's Cross, and over to the platforms, pushing her trolley with one hand while yawning into her elbow, they'd had to wake up almost at five in the morning to make it on time for the train, she cursed again that the conductor had no trouble dropping off students closer to their towns, but made no such effort when going to Hogwarts.

She thought back to the Saturday that just passed, she'd thrown herself into her books, she'd told Tom about the internship and he'd sat and quizzed her throughout the day, now they were heading back to Hogwarts for their second term.

"Hermione!" she heard her name being called almost as soon as she cleared the barrier with her trolley before Tom, she moved to the side so that he wouldn't run into her when he came through, and craned her neck to find Ron walking towards her. He picked up his pace and swung her in his arms, her own wrapping around his neck, kissing her deeply.

They separated and Hermione's face was on fire, and she couldn't help the smile on her face.

"I'm going to go find us a carriage, want me to take your cat with me?" he asked, and she smiled at him and nodded, handing him Crookshanks's carrier. She turned to grab her trunk from her trolley, but a hand grasped her wrist. She glanced up to see Tom staring at her intently.

"What?" she asked, confused, he had such weird moods.

"What was that?" he asked, before letting go of her wrist and grabbing her trunk for her, charming it weightless as he picked it up.

"What was what? Do you mean Ron? Oh, right, we're together now," she rambled, face growing hot, why would he want to know? It's not like it affected him.

"Ah," he responded and said nothing more.

He carried their trunks and set them in the luggage compartment below the windows, before leaving her for the heads and prefects carriage. She decided to brush off his weird behaviour and went to join her friends.

Like last time, she slept for the majority of the ride, but also unlike last time, she cuddled into Ron this time around, only being woken when Minerva handed her a missive from Professor Dumbledore to see him after dinner. Her friends were looking at her curiously, and she remembered she hadn't actually told them what happened the night of Slughorn's gala.

So she told them everything, worried about what the summons would mean. Had her hex on McLaggen gotten caught? Was it concerning what he did? She supposed she would find out, so she discussed it with her friends, who apparently had already suspected because he'd been hexed very noticeably with that very specific word the night after she didn't come back to the tower.

Apparently, word travelled fast in the wizarding world, but surprisingly no one had attributed McLaggen's hexing to her, and Hermione figured her tongue-tying curse on him had worked after all. They had all be hoping she would open up to them when she was ready, and upon confirmation, Ginny was enraged, Harry was quietly furious, Géraldine held her hand in comfort from the seat across from her, and Ron was sad. He'd asked her why she hadn't told him, and she'd had to explain that for the majority of the break she had still been hurting and that she hadn't been ready to talk about it then. In the end, he understood, and they all told her they'd support her regardless of what happened.

They dropped the subject and began to talk about everything else that was apparently going on in the school, and halfway through the ride Luna joined them with extra copies of The Quibbler. She chattered about creature sightings from South America, and Hermione who'd been to the mainland a handful of times throughout her life, humoured her.

It was not the first or last time that Hermione was glad of the friends she'd made at Hogwarts.