Chapter 21 – April 25th, 1945 – Riddle Manor

Tom read the muggle newspaper in his rooms, both greatly intrigued and disturbed by what was reported. It seemed that though the winter outside had thawed to spring, the war raged outside still, and where dead trees were coming alive again, there would be no resurrection for the hundreds of thousands of muggles of the Jewish faith. This specific copy of The Yorkshire Post reported the liberation of German Death Camps, it was estimated that millions had been killed in total between all the different camps, though officially, there was no fixed number yet.

A million seemed like such an incomprehensible number to Tom, he didn't even think there were a million magic users in all of Western Europe, never mind of a single set belief. He shook his head in disbelief and continued reading the other articles, and again, the scale of the muggle world war disturbed him.

On one page, an article covered the American victory over Japan during the battle of Iwo Jima in late March, another text block detailed a battle in the Philippines, Argentina just declared war on Germany, and to his knowledge, the British were victors of Operation Roast in North-Eastern Italy.

Tom was certain he could use these numbers and statistics somehow to his benefit, perhaps as a backup scare tactic once he had the Slytherin seat, he thought of the magical war then. Grindelwald's soldiers and bases had been booted from France in September, and now the British Magical Army, allied with Canada, the U.S, and France were working on liberating south of Spain, Italy, and Morocco from remaining forces, continuing to move further east into continental Europe.

In the Wizengamot, Progressive party leader Dumbledore was being pressured from all sides to battle Grindelwald now, while he was obviously weakened, though the light wizard has yet to make any overt movements.

Tom's opinion of Dumbledore was already extremely low, that he was a wizard who saw a neglected child who'd admitted to acting out, but instead of offering assistance or some sort of support system, he had further shunned him and treated him with borderline hostility. For years he'd regretted telling the professor of his inclinations and parseltongue ability, thinking he'd made a misstep, but the older he grew, the more he realized how wrong he'd been treated, after all, he'd simply been a child then.

Did he deliberately hurt, cheat and take lives now? Yes, he did, and if he were to be caught, he understood that he'd probably deserve any punishment that would be relegated upon him (though that was an exceptional if), but as a child of negligible upbringing? Tom felt it reeked of projection of whatever insecurities Dumbledore held close to his chest. As it stood, he was being pressured by all to duel Grindelwald, but the flamboyant professor, instead, was doing everything in his power to block Tom's ascension to Slytherin's seat, by trying to sway the neutral vote that he'd already won over.

Truthfully, in this case, he did not mind the old mage's attempt at subterfuge, because as clearly as he could see Dumbledore's negligence in dealing with Grindelwald, it meant that so could everyone else, and Tom would eventually use that distrust to strike back at Dumbledore twice as hard.

Of the neutral votes he'd lost was Laird McLaggen (Hermione's stunt had cost him from ever having his support) which admittedly, didn't bother him much, as he'd never counted on having it in the first place. Caspar Crouch, who was so left of Neutral that he was practically Progressive. Kenrich Smith, who was apparently holding a personal grudge of losing his bid for the Hufflepuff seat back in 1932.

Finally, teetering on the edge of whether to support or not was Mafalda Hopkirk, who unlike Crouch, was so far right of Neutral, that she was essentially Traditional, and Tamarius Gamp, a true neutral who only swayed the vote depending on his personal thoughts and beliefs on matters at hand (it was said the Gamp line was a direct Ravenclaw line, that simply didn't care to make a claim for their founder seat) so perhaps he could entirely count on him.

Lastly, there was one wizard Tom was almost sure of in their vote but could lose if he acted on his impulsivity, and that was Hector Fawley.

His blood had hit an absolute boiling point when Antonin, who with a devious gleam in his eye, informed him of his witness of Hermione and Kai Fawley's courtship. He's struck quickly and had duelled Antonin until the other boy was a panting, bleeding mess on the floor, for daring to derive enjoyment from the news that he'd known would have enraged him.

Suffice to say, Antonin's chaotic jubilance had since dimmed around him into proper respect. There were times where Tom wished he could simply torture his way to respect but knew that if he'd ever gone that route, that he would no longer have knights or supporters. So, he became stronger, quicker, and more lethal in his duelling practices, his apprenticeship within the Department of Mysteries affording him access to notes and studies of previous Unspeakables, and so he used that knowledge to challenge any of his knights, who for a moment, thought themselves his superior.

His apprenticeship was coming up on a year, and though he knew he'd gained a lot of knowledge thus far, he knew even better that all that information would be obliviated from his mind if he ever tried to leave the Unspeakables.

On the subject of Kai Fawley, Tom had done some research, he was apparently the youngest Fawley son out of five children, making him the fourth son and that he was from a second marriage to a muggleborn, making him a halfblood. He knew Hector Fawley was the Minister previous to the current Spencer-Moon, and was a staunch neutral-traditionalist, but Tom doubted he'd appreciate very much to vote for a Slytherin seat contender after they'd found parts of his son scattered throughout Diagon Alley.

He could see Hermione was smitten, hiding smiles when he was mentioned, causing acid to fill Tom's lungs and make his hand twitch for his wand. He could not act now, could not rip that smile off her face in the form of ripping Kai Fawley's spine out of his back, not when he was so close to his goal.

Oh, he knew the other man was fucking her, and he promised himself that when the time came, retribution would be immense, to both of them, and Hermione would learn her place. He felt his nostrils flare in fury and forced himself to ease the pressure on his jaw as he folded the newspaper and set it on the side table beside him, willing himself to calm down.

§ Your scent has changed again, what bothers you §

Kaa hissed from her place on the carpet in front of the fire. She'd grown massively in the time that he had her, reaching almost eight feet now, her scales had taken on a more opal sheen, rather than the mother of pearl she'd had as a hatchling, and the jewel on her head looked to resemble a moonstone now, her propensity for growth escalated due to her status as a magical breed. She'd also, undoubtedly, had become his prime confident, though that was merely because nobody would ever be able to understand the secrets they'd wrench out of her if they tried.

§ Something that is mine if being taken by someone else §

He hissed back softly, feeling rage coil in the pit of his stomach again, the idea of another man touching her, coupled with the fact that his hands were tied, made him want to kill something.

§ Are you not the superior choice of mate? §

He snorted, Kaa absolutely would cut to the centre of the issue at hand, she knew based on his scent alone, his regard for Hermione, and she never failed to call him on it.

§ I am, but there are obstacles I cannot overcome at this time, lest I risk losing everything §

She was silent after that, and he folded his hands over his stomach, bringing his ankle to rest over one knee, and stared into the fire as he considered all of his different ploys and plans he had going simultaneously. It seemed, he too, would be subject to this waiting game that he'd been delighted that crippled Helen so. Thinking of his cousin, he'd been watching her actions closely, and he was almost certain his ploy with Seaborn had worked, as she was away from the manor often, and to his knowledge, hadn't received any more correspondence from the Innocenti woman.

He'd done some research and had found that Helen's mother had been an Innocenti, so he decided to tuck that information away until he could use it. Currently, the war had tied Helen's hands from acting on any plans she'd had internationally, and hopefully, Seaborn was tying her hands here domestically (he snorted at the ironic implication of that thought).

As for Hermione, she would get hers from him, of that he was certain. She did not get to make a fool of him and walk unscathed. He was weaving a web, and she was the butterfly with no idea of what she was flying into, while he, the spider, watched, waited, and weaved patiently.

Seaborn Lodge - May 18th, 1945

Helen's eyes fluttered open, and she blinked them until she began to recognize her surroundings, as well as the feeling of the soft bed sheets on her naked skin, and the weight of the arm over her waist. She frowned, and glanced towards the clock on the wall, noting the time as seven in the morning, and sighed a small exhale of relief, as her driver would be outside at eight, glad she'd made the arrangements beforehand.

She didn't usually spend the night, but last night Theodore had insisted and had seemed annoyed that she had wanted to leave at all. She had been tired, but unfortunately, sleep hadn't been on the man's mind at all. She winced as she slid her sore legs to the edge of the bed, removing his arm carefully, before getting up and making her way to the loo.

When she first made the decision to sleep with Theodore Seaborn, it had been with the understanding that it was casual sex and nothing more, which she'd originally agreed to, however, as the months passed and their dallying continued, she was starting to notice a disturbing pattern to his behaviour.

Chiefly being that he was rather possessive of her, and became antagonistic if she did not return his sentiments, and should she bring it to his attention, rightfully criticizing him and threatening to end their 'agreement', he would apologize but would circle back in a few weeks and do it again. He'd even gone as far as purchasing this manse on the Scarborough shoreline, only an hour from Little Hangleton in Malton proper.

Yesterday, he'd come to Riddle Manor, which in itself broke one of her rules of engagement, for him to show up where her daughter could see him, to pick her up for what he'd suggested as their own 'celebration' to the end of the war.

Not that the war was completely over, as the Japanese and Americans were still fighting, but Hitler committed suicide at the end of April, and the Germans had officially surrendered a week ago. Of course, his idea of celebration had been copious amounts of alcohol and sex, and not that Helen minded, but it begged a few questions as to why he wanted to celebrate with her, as they were no more than 'shagging acquaintances' (which is what she'd taken to calling them in her head).

She was beginning to think he was becoming far too invested in the idea that this may evolve into an actual relationship, and she was also beginning to think it prudent to cut him loose sooner rather than later.

She finished her business, washing her hands and face, as well as swiping a washcloth from the clean linen basket on the shelf to wash herself of the evidence of their nightly activities, frowning at how tender and swollen she still was. Tossing the washcloth into the hamper beside the door once she finished, she walked out of the washroom to find the man in question propped up on his elbow, watching every move she made, cock at half-mast.

Ignoring him, she instead went to the chair that held her effects and began dressing, slipping on her brassier, garter, and knickers, fastening to clasps to her stockings once she pulled them up to her thighs, before finally slipping her dress over her head. She fastened to button at the back of her neck and secured the belt around her waist, uncaring that he was still watching.

"And where do you think you're going?" he drawled, getting up from the bed and making his way towards hers, and she mentally scoffed at his attempt to appear predatory, for he would not know predatory if it bit him in his arsecheek.

"Home, of course," she replied curtly, grabbing her purse, double-checking its contents and straightening her hair briefly in the mirror of the vanity.

"It will take some time for my driver to be ready, what's the rush? I'm sure we can find something more enjoyable to do while we wait," he cooed in her ear, coming up from behind and running a hand over her, now clothed, arm. His condescending attitude sending a flash of rage up her spine, and she breathed deeply to calm it.

"No need, I have my own driver who I've instructed to be outside by eight," she responded, stepping away from him and making her way to the door. His hand wrapped tightly around her arm and he jerked her back towards him, but before he could wrap his arm around her, she'd regained her balance, rearing back far enough to back-handed him across the face. He let her go in shock, cupping his cheek while he stared at her incredulously.

"Regardless of our relations, Mr. Seaborn, that does not give you the right to manhandle me," she spat furiously, before turning once more and walking out of the room, grateful to see her driver as she exited the manse and quickly entered through the opened door of the car. Only once she was seated, and her driver began to turn out of the roundabout, did she look back to the entrance of the manse to find Theodore standing there watching her, with hastily thrown on trousers and button-down.

'Yes, it seems this arrangement is done,' she thought disdainfully. The sex had been good, certainly, but not worth dealing with the man's emotional instability, she had far too much self-respect to continue that now.

She thought of another boy, no, man, who radiated that same emotional instability but had enough charming countenance to hide it well. Tom, who she felt had been quiet in the last couple of months, as he hadn't even reacted to Hermione's new relationship, was certainly keeping her on her toes. She knew he must be planning something, but she didn't know what, and furthermore, how she should act or brace for whatever it was.

As for Kai, her daughter's new beau, she was apathetic towards, she'd met the man, and there was no mistaking that's what he was, as he was a good four years older than her girl, though that was the part of the relationship she was most critical of, Hermione seemed happy, so she kept her opinion to herself. She did decide to keep a close eye, however, and he seemed an exuberant fellow, constantly looking towards Hermione's comfort, which reminded her greatly Antoine.

She supposed she might be a bit hypocritical, as when she'd met Antoine in 1920, she'd been twenty-one, while he had been twenty-eight. She and her father's entourage had been in Sainte-Luce, as her father had been set to meet the then owner of Trois Rivieres distillery to sell arms. They had travelled from Fort-de-France originally, which is where, she theorized, they'd picked up the virus unknowingly, as it's had been a much bigger population.

Her father, their guide, who'd been leading them around the island, and her own lady's maid had succumbed to the flu, while only she had recovered. She had then been stranded on her own on that island, amidst a global pandemic, in what was essentially a fishing village.

She'd taken all the francs on her father's person, and had sold some jewelry to buy a small house within that village to hold herself over, while the pandemic rode itself out, helping various households with chores and helping care for the sick in exchange for food and supplies. Then Dr. Antoine Granger had come from Fort-de-France to help treat the sick, where she, of course, had volunteered to help, and the rest had become history.

She watched the scenery pass from her place inside the car, thinking of everything that had happened in the last two years, since coming back to Britain. She'd been prepared to remarry, prepared to attempt at another pregnancy at the age of forty-four, just to keep her daughter safe, while ensuring that she'd be able to finish her education, however, she would have never been able to prepare herself for the existence of one Tom Marvolo Riddle.

She'd had hoped, at first, that Tom Riddle Sr. And his parents wouldn't have shown open hostility to Hermione, though she'd been well aware of their blatant racism, and it broke her heart that her girl had so many enemies just for existing, but Tom Riddle Jr was a whole other threat that she would have never thought to account for. Though, as he hadn't made any overtures in months, she hoped that he'd have moved on from the idea of having any romantic involvement with her daughter, however, that did not stop her from planning contingencies as a precaution.

She followed the Daily Prophet on news of the Grindelwald war and was pleased to see that he was following the Nazis in terms of losses. Booted out of France, not to mention his straggling holds on Spain and Italy being targeted by Allied Magical Forces, it gave Helen hope for the future, as if the wars ended, that she would finally be able to think clearly.

Her paranoia was convinced that her correspondence with her maternal cousin, Laura, was compromised, simply due to the fact that she'd received a telegram from her that she hadn't remembered being given, which, assuming she'd been in Tom's company when it happened, was suspicious. So, she had sent her reply after proceeding to rent a postal box at the post office in York, directing Laura to send any future replies there.

She had explained to her in her response sent in October, that Italy, for her daughter, was likely compromised in terms of potential domestic threats. Laura had responded that she would write other members of their family, even those who had emigrated away from Italy long before the war. That response had been in December, and with it being May, she'd yet to see a reply, making the trip once a week, so as to not appear suspicious.

Making a decision as the entered Malton proper, she directed her driver to continue driving to York, estimating that it would be around ten in the morning by the time they got there, and that new letters would surely be in by then, with the war now over (mostly) it was worth seeing if there was finally a response.

It was indeed another hour before they reached the post office, and she gave her driver, Henry, extra funds to have to tank of the car filled, as well as orders to get himself something to eat, and to be back in two hours, giving her plenty of time to complete her business.

Entering the office, she dug into her purse to retrieve her box key as she headed to where they were stationed on the far wall. Approaching hers, she took a deep breath, before sliding the key in and turning, opening the small door upon the click of the lock, she released a shuddering breath upon finding a single letter laying there. She pulled it out and curiously taking in the multitude of stamps that covered the envelope, she read the return address, her heart pounding in her ears, eyes widening at what she saw:

Sr. M. INNOCENTI

Rochia, 1542

(R1005JHG) Buenos Aires

Argentina

She tapped her nail against the thick card stock encasing, and making a decision, she slipped it in her purse, before sliding her key out of the lock and closing the box.

She exited the office and made her way to the tea shop across the street, ordering an earl gray, sweetened with milk and a scone with jam, paying the outrageous price for it before looking for a seat. Rationing was still in effect despite the war ending Europe, but restaurants had generally been offered more than the average household. The reopening of many shops, not only in just York, with the weather changing from spring to early summer, filled Helen with a glimmer of optimism, that perhaps everything wouldn't actually go to utter shite.

Once she sat down at a checkered-cloth covered table, away from the windows (cheers to that familiar paranoia) she didn't pull the letter from the purse until the server brought her tea, deciding instead to split her scone in half and spread the jam, sliding a few shillings to the server when she did arrive with her tea.

When she was finally alone, she pulled the letter into her hands carefully, before opening it and scanning it quickly, she was relieved to read that it was still in Italian, rather than Spanish. Though she was confident that she would have been able to gather the gist of it if it were, with her knowledge in the other two romance languages, she was still not confident enough to read an entire letter in the language.

Her mother had taught her her native language behind her father's back, as her father, despite his obsession with Helen's mother, had disdained any people near the Mediterranean, which included Italians. To this day, it was a skill she cherished, and she regretted never teaching Hermione, or even telling her about that side of her family. She looked down at the unfamiliar script and began reading:

Cara Helena,

Mi ho spezzato il cuore, che non ti ho mai incontrato correttamente. Ho sentito mia nipote, Laura, che ti preoccupera la tua figlia in Gran Bretagna. Voglio essere chiaro, che tu e la tua figlia sono i benvenuti qui con me e la mia famiglia.

La tua madre era la mia sorellina, che non avevo potuto aiutare, ed é un qualcosa che mi pento ogni giorno

Saluti

Il tuo zio, Mateo Innocenti

She took a sip of her tea and broke off a piece of her scone, and considered the letter. She'd kept in touch with her zia Giustina, which had been her mother's sister, for years, and furthermore, her cousin Laura, who was Giustina's daughter, and who was only a few years her senior. She had known her mother had an older brother who had been fifteen years older than her, but she'd never been in contact with him before and hadn't even known that he emigrated to South America.

This was good, because if Tom was truly playing her the fool than this was a valid strategy that she could consider. What concerned her was that he could potentially pluck this information from her head, and that is where she had to be careful. She chewed thoughtfully on her scone, before taking another sip of her tea. Perhaps it was time to bring Hermione in on her plans, she would need to speak to her daughter.

She finished her tea and scone, before heading back to the postal office to draft her response, telling her uncle of her fear for her daughter's welfare, detailing that she was grateful for the offer and that she would be in touch. She copied the address from his own letter, before paying the necessary pounds on postage to have it sent off.

It was one in the afternoon that she finally found herself at home, and she headed to her rooms to bathe and dress properly before making her way to her daughter's room, letter in her pocket. It was Sunday, and usually, Hermione went to mass after lunch, so she should be home soon. Sure enough, she'd only had to wait fifteen minutes before her daughter walked into the room, while Helen had been perusing once more through the seventh year defence book, specifically the chapter on mind magics, an idea taking hold in her mind.

"Maman? What's going on?" her girl asked, closing the door and as if by habit, silenced the room. Helen smiled sadly at her daughter, despairing that such practices had become the norm.

"Do you know occlumency?" she asked, getting straight to the point, and Hermione gaped at her confusedly before warily nodding.

"Yes, we practiced a beginner's level of it in school, and furthermore in the defence group we started," she explained, taking a seat on the love-seat as Helen nodded.

"Good, I want you to obliviate me after I tell you this information."

Bayit Cham – June 15th, 1945

They all sat around Géraldine's kitchen table, Hermione sipped her tea, frowning when she found that it was still too hot and placed it back down. To her right was Jaismine, to her left Harry, across from her were Géraldine and Ron, and beside their host was Jean-Pierre with a cup of pumpkin juice, crayons and some paper, so that he could feel included.

The air around them was charged with anxiety and anticipation, Harry being the one who mostly radiated it, firstly due to Tom's ascension to the Slytherin seat in six days, and secondly, due to Ginny's graduation in ten days.

The graduation ceremony for Hogwarts seventh year would be on Sunday the twenty-fourth, and Hermione had insisted that she would be there to support both her and Luna, after all, it would be a while before she saw either of them again. Ginny was tagged to play quidditch professionally with the Holyhead Harpies, after having been invited to the tryouts during spring hols, and Luna was set to expedition with her father in Peru for two months when she finished school, due to Xenophilius Lovegood managing to wrangle one of his editors to man The Quibbler in his absence.

Today, though, the topic of discussion was Tom's almost certain win of the Slytherin Seat, which fell on the summer solstice, despite the Progressive party rallying to gain supporters against the vote.

"I'm confused, everyone is waiting and hoping Professor Dumbledore will act against Grindelwald, but he's spending his time instead to gather opposition against Tom?" she reiterated, feeling annoyed, but mostly due to her own personal experience and sacrifices pertaining to the war.

"It's not that simple, it's that, even though Dumbledore is our most powerful mage and option against Grindelwald, he is also the elected leader of the Progressive Party, or "light faction" of the Wizengamot, so it's his responsibility to prevent the Traditional Party, self-titled "dark faction" from gaining too much power by swaying the Swing Party, or "neutral faction"," Harry explained, while moving his hands across the table to assist in emphasizing his point, and Hermione felt her eye twitch, because she already knew all of that, and felt annoyed that she seemed to be the only one who cared for all the people who were actually dying in this war, but refrained from snapping. To her, the priorities of the British magical government were an absolute travesty, but what else was new?

"Riddle is smart though, using the war both to distract and boast his image for support, it's how he's gotten such a positive reception from the Swing/neutrals. He's using Dumbledore's mobilizing against him to fan the flames of discontent with the Progressive Party, which furthermore perpetuates support for his pro-traditional platform, by using that same exhaustion for the wars," Ron piped in, scratching the bit of facial hair growing on his chin, and Hermione nodded, because he was correct, and either Dumbledore didn't see the ploy, or worse yet, saw it and decided the delay of his involvement in the war was worth the risk.

"And arguably, a lot of the Wizengamot is in favour of restraining muggle influence, regardless of what party they represent, so the rhetoric Riddle is using is extremely effective, no one will admit to it because it's political suicide, but it's definitely there because he's even got a few 'yes' votes from the Progressive Party," Jaismine spoke beside her, tapping her fingers softly against the table as Hermione watched her hand, considering her words.

'Is anti-muggle sentiment so strong because of the wars? Or was it always there?' she thought curiously, trying to picture Euphemia, Fleamont, or even Kai supporting discrimination behind closed doors, but couldn't come up with an answer because it seemed far too off-brand to their normal personalities. If Tom won, it begged the question of how many people in this world she was in truly disdained her or people like her mother? The thought made her feel anxious.

She shot a glance at Géraldine across the table, the other girl had been in a sort of quiet melancholy for months, as after the release of the German Death Camps, she still had no word on her parents or older brother. Hermione felt for her, raising her younger brother, having to live with the knowledge that her family was possibly dead, as well as the antagonistic environment here in Britain for being nouveau-sang? Though she knew the hardships of racism, she couldn't imagine that pain, thanking God daily that she had her mother.

Tom also confused her, she knew his politics, or at least, she thought she did, but he was always still polite and considerate at home to her mother and even the manor staff, but how much of that was fake? His discussions of the war and company with her mother were always intellectual in verbiage, but did he still disdain her because of her lack of magic?

They didn't really talk about their personal lives, and she didn't even know if he knew that she was courting Kai, though perhaps he did, as he'd stopped pushing his innuendos on her, which was a relief. They generally spoke of politics, or academic topics, while she raged at unjust laws, he would drive her up a wall by playing devil's advocate.

He was a master at logical fallacies, and she was sure he did it on purpose, to get a rise out of her, because she also knew he was too clever to actually believe half the nonsense the Traditional Party spewed, but then, Jaismine's word made her think, how much of that was him playing her the fool? She thought back to her mother and her plan, wondering if perhaps it truly had been necessary, thinking briefly of the great-uncle she had in Argentina that her mother now had no knowledge about, wondering and hesitant at the idea of ever having to take such action.

The idea, however, that Tom still engaged her but still thought her existence worthless? It turned her stomach to think about, and that was to say nothing of his personal interest in her person. She'd thought, at least, to her knowledge, that he was siding with the Traditional Party because they were his sure-fire way to power, the power that was the Slytherin seat, which he felt entitled to as the sole surviving descendant (non-incarcerated) of the name in question.

"And there is no one who can claim any other founder seat to even the playing field?" she asked, and Harry huffed out a chuckle, but Jaismine cut him off before he could answer.

"There are, the Gamp line is said to descend from Ravenclaw, though Tamarius Gamp, the current holder of the Gamp seat has stated that he has no care for it," she explained, and Harry piped in.

"The Longbottom family is the only surviving line of Gryffindor, but then that would require Neville to make the claim," he paused, and Hermione nodded, agreeing with the unlikelihood of such a thing coming to pass, thinking of the gentle boy she knew briefly in Hogwarts.

"And the Smith family is descended from Hufflepuff, though they tried to claim the seat fifteen years ago, but were shot down by a thirty-one to nineteen vote, and they never tried again," he finished, Hermione pursed her lips, seeing the dilemma.

So essentially, Tom saw a literal once in a lifetime opportunity, and grabbed at it with two hands, using his surrounding environments and political climate to support him in a way, that if done carefully enough, the chance of failure was unlikely? That sounded dastardly and completely on point for him, and Hermione restrained a snort. Feeling eyes on her, she turned to find Jaismine scrutinizing her.

"What is it? Something on my face?" Hermione asked, patting her face dramatically when she noticed she caught Jean-Pierre's attention, earning a giggle from the small boy, so she playfully blew a raspberry at him, which he returned exuberantly. Géraldine flashed her a smile, which she returned, before turning her attention back to her friend beside her.

"It hadn't occurred to me earlier, but in both Riddle's pre-ascension and if he wins, it may bring threats to your person," she murmured, looking worried, "there's no doubt, in an effort to dig up dirt on him, many would have found his relation to you," she explained, causing Ron and Harry to verbally protest immediately.

"There's no way!"
"The Progressive Party wouldn't do that!"

Jaismine scoffed and rolled her eyes, before responding.

"Don't be naive, not everyone in the Progressive Party is an innocent do-gooder, just like everyone in the Traditional Party isn't a muggle hating devil." before turning back to Hermione, who was still contemplating the information.

"I'm just saying, for anyone either trying to dreg up information on Riddle, or boost his name to appear sympathetic due to his relation to you, they will probably try to use you to do it," she reiterated, and Hermione squinted her eyes in confusion.

"That doesn't make sense though, the Traditional Party likely already knows he's a half-blood, and probably already knew about me as well, perhaps what you say about using me to garner sympathy is true, but wouldn't I have already been in danger? My relation to Tom isn't necessarily new," she reasoned, but Jaismine shook her head, though Ron, Harry and Géraldine were still as they considered her words.

"That's the thing, with the wars, not many were giving Riddle's ascension a due amount of attention, but the closer we get to the day, the more likely the support or aversion will grow, enough to make people act out of character because they'll be caught in a mob mentality. We could sit here and brainstorm all day of where, why, how, and when you might be affected, but the fact of the matter is that you should be careful," she answered, and that was something they could all agree on.

Wizengamot Election & Audience Chamber – June 21st, 1945

Hermione stood at the railing looking down on the election chamber of the British Ministry of Magic, they were in section for the public audience, that were three levels above the ground floor, while the second floor was for the press, and the first floor was for the Wizengamot members. Kai was at her side, holding her bandaged hand lightly in his, and her friends were crowded closely around her, as the audience balcony was packed.

It seemed it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see someone win a founder's seat, that apparently absolutely nobody wanted to miss, and Hermione briefly thought that perhaps as an immigrant, that she wasn't fully appreciating the historical context of what was happening.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, Jaismine had been right a couple of days ago, as in the last six days, Hermione had been accosted multiple times while strolling Diagon Alley, minding her own business. Thankfully, however, she hadn't been alone, having been with either Kai or one of her friends, so she hadn't actually come to any harm, but it still filled her with anxiety, as the people attacking her were just random citizens who didn't even know her.

She found out why soon after, someone had leaked her relation to Tom to the Daily Prophet, which had resulted in a full-page slander written by none other than gossip journalist Rita Skeeter. The article in question suggested that she was a free woman, a harpy of a French immigrant that was juggling and breaking the hearts of their British sons, Kai Fawley, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley, implying that she was carrying on affairs behind the backs of Ginny and Géraldine, which painted Tom in a saintly light for having put up with having such an embarrassment for family.

That had been the start of the hexed letters and howlers, and Tom had actually helped her weave a mail ward into his own wards on the manor, to redirect mail with an intent to harm, but it all came to a boiling point when someone sent pure undiluted bubotuber pus inside an impervioused envelope with a matching note listing all the helpful remedies it could create, which had allowed it to pass through her mail ward. It had happened at breakfast when the mail was brought in, which meant that it had also been sent the non-magical way, and she'd only opened it after scanning it discreetly for hexes.

The manor staff had to be obliviated by the Obliviator Squad from Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and she'd had to create a report when Tom helped her to St. Mungos, an event that had also made it's way to the Daily Prophet, painting Tom once more, in an incredibly sympathetic light.

Tom had apologized profusely, stating he hadn't had any idea the lengths that some would go to drag her down because of him. She wasn't sure if she entirely believed him, but he'd gently helped dress her hands this morning with murtlap essence, so she was unsure where to lay blame besides the Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter. It was yesterday that she'd gone to Madam Potter, who thankfully believed her innocence, and recommended her to a close friend who was also a barrister, due to her own inability to represent her as she would have appeared biased. So Hermione officially filed a defamation suit against both Skeeter and the Daily Prophet, and today, almost all of Magical Britain was crammed into this auditorium to witness if Tom Riddle won the Slytherin seat.

Tom would give a speech, and a vote would be drawn, and just then, she was brought out of her thoughts as the crowd quieted down. She leaned further into Kai, breathing in his cologne, as he rested his chin on her head, only being able to because she had her hair slicked back into a bun today. She looked down to see the Wizengamot seats were filled with witches and wizards with their impressive plum covered robes. The door to the chamber opened, and Tom walked in, impressive as always with his expensive robes, flanked by three goblins, who carried a dagger, a bowl, and a scroll.

"This is the proof for the entire Wizengamot and audience that he is who he says he is," Kai whispered in her ear, and she nodded but didn't respond, too focused on what was going on down below.

One goblin held open the scroll, while another held the bowl with what looked to be a clear potion inside. Tom rolled up the sleeves of his robes so that all could see clearly that he was playing no tricks, and held his finger over the bowl as the third goblin pricked it, letting three drops fall into the potion before stirring it with the dagger. Hermione watched in fascination as the clear potion turned a brilliant crimson, and furthermore when Tom palmed the bowl gently before pouring it down onto the flattened scroll, which immediately absorbed every drop before sprouting into existence, Tom's lineage.

Minister for Magic, Leonard Spencer-Moon, approached the scroll with a magical magnifying glass that would reveal any charms or duplicity and scoured the lineage line until satisfied, where he then declared Tom to be truthful in his claim as Salazar Slytherin's descendant.

He then gestured with a guiding arm for Tom to take his place at the podium for his speech, to which he gratefully accepted, radiating a charming countenance. Not a single soul breathed within the crowd and Hermione was certain she would be able to hear a pin drop, as Tom began to speak.

"Good evening to you, Minister Spencer-Moon, as well as to the respectable members of our Wizengamot, and of course, to you, the citizens of our magnificent United Kingdoms. Allow me to begin by wishing you all a joyous midsummer and a satisfying longest day of the year," he paused, his voice reverberating throughout the auditorium, smooth and clear, as he waited for his words to settle, Hermione noticing the appeased expressions of the majority of the faces around her.

"I come here today to lay claim to the Slytherin seat, not because I feel I am entitled to it by blood and magic, no, I recognize that it takes more than that to be deemed worthy of such an honour," he continued, laying an elegant hand over his heart in earnest expression, and Hermione had to hold in a scoff.

"But because," he paused for effect, "I am a simple wizard, who sees the divisiveness, and the hurt within our community, caused by both ourselves, as well as outside forces, such as Grindelwald and his war. I am a wizard, who simply wants to see to it that our home flourishes once more."

"I recognize that I am being afforded a privilege here today, by everyone in this room, and in our United Kingdoms. I am being afforded the opportunity to listen to you, to be a voice for you, to speak in defence of our rights, freedoms, and traditions," he continued, and Hermione saw his words for what they were, pretty jarble to maintain the status quo, she felt her eyes burn in indignation.

"I come to you today, as a friend, a brother, and a son, to plead to you, to let me help make our home strong, because should it not be so? Should our home not be where we are most comfortable? Should our home be subject to change, by our own thoughts and opinions, and not by those who do not call these magnificent Kingdoms home?" he asked, and Hermione tore her eyes away from him and the stomping of agreement from both the audience around her, the journalists, and a few members of Wizengamot.

"Then permit me, the seat of my ancestor, to be your ally as Lord Slytherin, as Salazar, himself, had been when he was alive, when he helped to build our beloved Hogwarts, to educate our children and prepare them for their futures. Permit me so that I may help you by being your voice in the crowd, and your wand in the battle," he paused one last time, "Permit me, and I will make it my duty to help you. Thank you." he stepped back and bowed his head respectively in the face of applause.

Minister Spencer-Moon called for votes, and within minutes, Hermione's heart dropped into her stomach at the overwhelming majority in favour of ascension.

Thirty-five votes for yes, and sixteen for no, with the Minister himself casting a vote for yes. The crowds around her cheered, while she and her friends were silent. Tom turned his head upwards and stared her in the eye, a small smile crawling on his lips, she spoke softly, not breaking eye contact:

"So this is how liberty dies, with thunderous applause."

Authors Note: Bonus points if you know where that last quote is from. Also, I just made up that address, using some bank in Argentina as a template lol
and here's a rough translation to the letter:

Dear Helen,

It broke my heart to have never met you properly. I have heard from my niece, Laura, that you worry for your daughter in Great Britain. I want to make myself clear, that you and your daughter are welcome here with me and my family.

Your mother was my little sister, that I had not been able to help, and it is something I regret every day.

Regards

Your Uncle, Mateo Innocenti

Hope you all enjoyed the chapter.