"Don't look at my wand; I need eye contact. I'm not that good at this. Yes, like that. Legilimens." Hermione's bright brown eyes searched Tom's for a moment. "Six of spades." She broke eye contact and looked at the face-down card on the table.

Tom sighed and flipped the card over. It was, indeed, the six of spades, and Tom hadn't even noticed her searching his mind. He drew another card, looked at it, and placed it face-down on the table. "Again, please."

She again cast "Legilimens," and again extracted the information from Tom's mind almost instantly. Again, and again, and again, he failed.

"Again, please." He put another card on the table.

"This might not be possible," said Hermione.

"I've only just started," said Tom. "I'm not going to give up yet."

"We should try something different," said Hermione. She thought. "I could try being worse at this. I'm pretty bad at doing it wandlessly for example."

"All right."

Hermione set her wand on the table, clasped her hands together, looked Tom in the eye, and cast "Legilimens."

Tom looked into her eyes as she looked into his. She had pleasant-enough looking eyes he supposed, so this was no hardship. There was no good reason for this eerie, unsettling feeling, the feeling he had when looking at— "Tommy," he remembered. "Where's Tommy?" He broke eye contact to look around the room, for Tommy was surely nearby, and a silent toddler was a frightening thought.

"Three of hearts," she said, correctly. "Your mother's looking after Tommy," she added, confused. "He's fine."

"No, he must be…" but Tommy clearly wasn't here in Tom's office. Tom blinked a few times. "Why did I think…"

"Oh!" realized Hermione. "Yes, Tommy isn't very good at concealing his Legilimency yet. My clumsy attempt must have felt like his."

Tom found that he'd risen from his chair. "My son. His eyes have always been unnerving, from the first night you brought him here."

"Yes, untrained Legilimency can be obvious like that." Hermione smiled. "So you've been able to detect his Legilimency all along then? This is wonderful news! Detecting it is the first step to blocking it. You're remarkably talented for a muggle."

"Putting my talents aside for the moment," said Tom as he paced around the room, "the point remains that my son has been reading our minds all this time."

Athena briefly opened her fiery eyes to glare at Tom for disturbing her rest, then closed them once she judged Tom sufficiently abashed.

"He hasn't been reading mine," said Hermione. "I'm no expert in Occlumency, but I can defend myself from an infant."

"By 'our,'" Tom explained, "I meant my family." A terrible thought struck him. "I suspect that many of my father's thoughts are inappropriate for children."

"He's fine," said Hermione. "I'm sure his thoughts are considerably more wholesome than mine."

"And my thoughts," Tom realized. "I've, I've thought about Merope…"

"Hm. Well, that could be a problem. I wouldn't worry about it, though, as long as most of your thoughts are normal. It's hard to say how much an infant can really read, anyway. Even if the channel is open for thoughts to enter his mind, that doesn't mean there's anywhere to put those thoughts once they get there, in an immature brain. The important thing is that I'm sure your whole family's thoughts about Tommy are much better than the thoughts he would have read in that orphanage." She shuddered. "The staff there think their charges are all born of sin, and destined to sin, and if you add things like Tommy's Parseltongue talent…"

"The Tommy of your timeline grew into the monster they thought he was," realized Tom. "A self-fulfilling prophecy."

"Exactly. I hate prophecy."

Tom looked out a window at the January landscape, a few patches of snow melting in the shadows. "When were you planning to tell us? Ever?"

"Tell you what?"

"That Tommy is a Legilimens? I already suspected that he could pick up our emotions, but I didn't know his abilities extended so far." His baby son, with no training, was naturally as skilled at wandless Legilimency as an exceptionally powerful witch!

There was no sound but the crackling of the fire for a bit. "I didn't want you to worry," Hermione finally answered. "There's no point knowing things if you can't use the knowledge for anything."

That required a sharp turn to look at Hermione again. "Can't use the knowledge? My son can read minds and you thought I wouldn't use that?" He laughed. "Or hoped I wouldn't use that?" He returned to sit with Hermione by the warmth of the fire. He reshuffled the deck, drew a card, looked at it, and placed it face-down on the table. "Again, please. Wandlessly like before. I think I have a chance of defending myself against that." He sought out her eyes eagerly, but she waited before meeting his gaze, instead looking at her folded hands.

She took a deep breath, and her gaze finally rose to meet his. "Legilimens."

Tom recognized that eerie feeling, those eyes that seemed to have their own gravitational pull. He parried as the books had taught him, blocking their draw as one blocked gravity with Wingardium Leviosa.

Hermione gasped. "I felt that! You fought back! Ten of clubs, though."

She was right. Tom rushed to draw another card. "Again, please."

"Legilimens."

This time he fought back harder. It felt like trying to lift a barbell with his pinky toe, but at least he knew what the goal was.

"King of diamonds. And you're planning to use Tommy to gather blackmail material on pureblood supremacists?"

"Of course. And I thought we agreed that you'd just read the cards."

"I know you well enough, Tom. That didn't take Legilimency."

"It's so obvious, you must have thought of it yourself. I'm not the only person to realize that Tommy's unique talents would be useful for turning the wizarding world upside down." He drew another card. "Again, please."

She waited before she cast. "You think that's why I'm here? To exploit Tommy for my own ends?"

Tom tapped the card. "Cast, please. I've almost got it."

"Legilimens." This time, there was a long pause before Hermione said "Jack of hearts. Wow. You really put up a fight that time."

He'd fought hard and lost. A headache was growing, and he wasn't sure if his office was stable or spinning, but he drew another card. "Again, please."

"Legilimens. Ace of spades."

This was worth the headache. Tom flipped the card over. "Wrong. Ace of diamonds," he said triumphantly. She gasped. Tom could finally drop his Occlumency. The room spun and he staggered. It might seem difficult to stagger while seated in a wingback chair, but if a gentleman can't stagger in the comfort of his own chair, where can he stagger?

"Tom!" He felt Hermione's warm hand on his cheek. "Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes to meet hers once more, her gaze as intense as usual without the uncanny addition of Legilimency. He found words eventually. "I'm all right now," he admitted, "but with practice I'll be bloody invincible. Thank you very much for the lesson, Hermione." He pressed his hands to his temples. "That's all the Occlumency I'll attempt today. I need fresh air." He smiled. "So this is the perfect time for your bicycling lesson."

"Or you could rest," she suggested.

"Nonsense. I owe you a lesson in something, and I always pay my debts."

Hermione sighed and gave a wry smile. "All right. I'll go change."

Once suitably attired, they reconvened in the front hall. "I do like these culottes you got for me," said Hermione. "I'll wear them a lot."

"They're perfect for bicycling," Tom agreed.

"Not just for bicycling, I mean to wear in general," said Hermione. "Around the house, taking Tommy on outings, they're just great all-purpose clothes. And they go so well with these flats."

"But, they're sportswear," said Tom helplessly. His headache intensified. "You're just saying that to wind me up, aren't you?"

Hermione laughed. "You'll see," she said ominously. Then she walked out the front door and Tom followed.

They got their bicycles out of the garage and walked them down the hill towards the flatter area by the old Gaunt property. Construction was in progress, not that there was any way to tell from the road.

Clouds raced across the sky, and there was a damp chill in the air which Tom knew would soon be defeated by the warmth of exertion. He took deep breaths of fresh air, enjoying the hints of storm, and felt his headache fade. Thus fortified, he braved the subject again. "In the future, women wear trousers, don't they?"

"Yes."

"How far in the future?"

"Well, even a few eccentric Victorians wore those odd pantaloons and things. Then there was just a gradual change as trousers on women got more acceptable as ordinary clothes. Dresses became more of a special occasion, dressing-up sort of thing for women by, I don't know, maybe the sixties or seventies?"

Tom thought about that. "Did you bring any fashion magazines from the future?" He supposed he deserved the look Hermione gave him for that. "Forgive me. Did you bring clothes from your time? You must have owned such at some point."

She thought. "I guess they're still in my bag. I keep meaning to clean it out, get rid of stuff I don't need anymore, but it's a big job, and there are always more urgent things to do first."

"If you have room to store it, there's no need to discard clothing that will be fashionable in seventy years," said Tom. "Just wait for fashion to catch up to your wardrobe, and wear clothing from the nineties when you're in your nineties."

Tom was used to his jokes falling flat with Hermione, but her reaction to this one seemed unusually grim even by her standards. "I won't need clothes in the nineties."

That was an alarming statement, both for what it implied about the progression of fashion through the twentieth century, and for the image it brought to mind. Witches lived considerably longer than muggles, but still, no matter how rigorously a ninety-year-old practiced calisthenics, some figures were more aesthetically pleasing when tastefully draped. Tom wasn't looking forward to losing either his eyesight or his life to old age, but it was a small consolation that the brevity of his muggle lifespan would spare him a view of such a future. Younger generations were still in danger, however. "But won't you catch a chill?" he asked helplessly.

Finally, Hermione laughed. "I didn't mean I'll be walking around starkers! I just… won't be around."

"Are you planning on leaving this timeline before then?" She'd never said she'd stay longer than necessary to accomplish her one task of raising Tommy properly, and surely if she hadn't managed it by then she never would, but still, it was unsettling to know she had such concrete plans for the future that didn't involve him. "Where will you go?"

"Down this hill," she said, and she got on her bicycle and plummeted the rest of the way down the hill with a shriek.

Tom stared as she sped into the distance, curls escaping from her faux bob and flying behind her like the tail of a comet. Once the shock wore off, he mounted his bicycle and followed her.

She gradually slowed, then stopped once the road leveled. Tom pedaled and caught up.

She was breathing hard, her cheeks flushed pink, her wind-whipped curls writhing like excited snakes. "I can do this!"

"Yes," said Tom. "But I thought you didn't know how to ride."

"It's not that different from riding a broom," she said. "I didn't know. It seemed so hard when I tried it last, but that was years ago. I guess my balance improved since then. I got some good broom-riding lessons from my friend Viktor. Don't look down unless you have to, stay focused on where you're going… It really helps with balance. So you don't have to teach me anything." She smiled and took off again.

"Oh," said Tom, although she was too far to hear him. "Good."

At least Tom's ability to pedal up the hill was far superior to hers. He pedaled up and zoomed down past her while she was still walking her bike back up the hill.

"Show off!" she yelled as he sped past.

He pedaled up again, meeting her up the hill and turning around. "Together?" he suggested.

She nodded, breathing hard.

"Count of three. One, two—" He took off with a laugh.

"You!" She pedaled to catch up to him as he applied his brakes to slow himself. "That's an old joke," she scolded.

"What do you expect? Thanks for humoring an old man." Hermione was nosing ahead, so he let go of his brakes to maintain his lead. She retaliated by pedaling harder, and then talking was an impossibility, for the race was on.

They hadn't chosen a finish line, and, as Tom had no particular motivation to get ahead of her, they wound up just riding alongside each other. He slowed when she did. They went up and down the hill a few more times, Tom providing encouragement with a well-aimed taunt whenever Hermione's energy faded.

"That's it for me today," said Hermione, pushing her bicycle up the hill. "My legs feel like jelly."

"Jelly is customarily served in bowls, not in culottes," said Tom primly. "You must learn these fine points of dining etiquette if you hope to be accepted in society."

"I can't hit you without letting go of my bicycle," complained Hermione. "And then I'd have to pick it up again, and I don't think I could."

"That was part of my plan, yes. I dare not anger a powerful witch without first making arrangements for my own safety."

"Cunning."

"Thank you. And you're very brave, to ride down this hill first thing."

"Thanks."

They parted to shower and change, and then Tom headed to the drawing room to await lunch. Tom's parents were there already, with Tommy on his mother's lap. Tommy's uncanny gaze sought out Tom's eyes, and Tom recognized that brush of Legilimency. He dared his headache to return by pushing back.

Tommy burst out laughing. "Mama!" he exclaimed. He slithered off Tom's mother's lap and toddled to Tom. "Mama! Mamamamamamamama!"

Yes, there was the headache. Tom gave up trying to resist and let Tommy's eyes do what they would. He picked Tommy up and set him on his lap. "I believe you have mistaken me for someone else. You may call me 'Papa' for ease of pronunciation, or 'father' if you'd like more of a challenge."

"Mama!"

"Papa."

"Mama!"

"Papa."

This engrossing discussion was interrupted by the arrival of an animated scarecrow with a mop for a head. Tom stared, speechless, at the spectacle.

"Mama!" exclaimed Tommy. He slithered off Tom's lap and toddled to the scarecrow, which picked him up.

"Tom was asking about clothes from my time, so I found them in my bag," the scarecrow explained. She spun to display her outfit. Tommy giggled. "Here it is, a muggle outfit from the late nineteen nineties. Before things got, well, bad."

Hermione was wearing most peculiar shoes, white, thick-soled flats that bubbled with bulging lumps. Above those were faded, worn blue trousers, made of fabric such as a common laborer might wear, although they fit more like stockings. The fabric of one knee was ripped, revealing her skin. In fact the cut of these trousers was so close, it could be said that they revealed a great deal about her legs even where they weren't ripped. Further up was a plaid flannel shirt that, despite its odd collar design, wouldn't look out-of-place on a common laborer. It looked very out-of-place on her, considering that it was grossly oversized, almost serving the function of a dress. She wore it untucked and completely unbuttoned, revealing what appeared to be a man's undershirt, although it was inexplicably green, similarly untucked. Her hair was mostly loose, although some was constrained by a peculiar bright pink device like a hinged, clawed butterfly perched on the crown of her head.

Tom's father was the first of the adults to regain the power of speech. "Those trousers fit you well," he observed.

"Thanks," said Hermione. "I wondered if they'd still fit. I guess they're OK."

"For what occasion would an ensemble like this be worn?" inquired Tom. Would ditch-digging become a popular pastime?

"Whatever, really. I'd go to the library in this, or the market."

Tom's mother did not gasp, but her quick intake of breath was audible.

"Thank you for not making me wait until fashion caught up with you," said Tom. "You know I'm interested in as much information about the future as you deem it wise to share. To preserve this ensemble for use later, you won't want to wear it out in this decade. And of course you'll need to take it off before Mark gets home from school."

Hermione nodded.

"Lunch is served," announced Fiona with admirable professionalism.

After lunch, Hermione went off to change into contemporary clothes. Tom's mother waited until she was, hopefully, out of earshot. "The future needs our help."

"Yes," agreed Tom.

—-

Tom was in his office one January afternoon, tallying how much the Wolfsbane business had cost in 1927, when he felt his mirror buzz in his pocket. He took it out, positioned it to ensure that his caller got no view of the papers on his desk, and opened it. "Hello?"

"Tom, I have great news," said Ignis. "We found a feral pack."

"And all survived the encounter, I trust?"

"Well yeah. And I've got an urgent question for you. We need to start taking our Wolfsbane potion January thirtieth for the full moon February fifth. Can Miss Vinter make ten extra doses this month?"

"I'll Floo-call her right now to ask," said Tom. "I'll mirror-call you back soon."

"Thanks," said Ignis.

Tom threw a pinch of Floo-powder in the fire, stuck his head in the green flames, and called "Vinter Potions." Maybe Hermione should make a mirror for her too, to replace this absurd method of communication.

Miss Vinter took a little while to answer, but did eventually, drying her hands on a towel. "Mr. Riddle?"

"Good day Miss Vinter. I have a request. Would it be possible for you to produce an additional ten doses to be ready January thirtieth?"

"Ten more? Let me check and call you back."

"Thank you." As Tom waited, he asked Dobby to invite Hermione to his office for news.

Miss Vinter called back soon. "I can do it."

"Thank you!"

"Where did you find that many more customers? The number's been level for months."

"I sent a team out in search of feral packs," said Tom. "They found one."

Miss Vinter's eyes got wide. "Blimey."

"Now I'll let you get back to work. Thank you again, Miss Vinter." Tom pulled his head from the fire and realized that while he'd been Floo-calling, Hermione had entered his office and witnessed his undignified squat. He hastily stood.

"Wonderful news!" said Hermione.

"Yes," said Tom. "Ignis is waiting for me to mirror-call him back, so I just need help removing this Floo-ash from my collar first."

"It doesn't… Oh all right."

Once Tom was presentable, he opened his mirror and called, "Ignis."

Ignis answered quickly. "Tom?"

Hermione, like an approaching storm, leaned in to look in the mirror. "Hi Ignis! It's so good to hear from you. How are you?"

"Kind of embarrassed, really," said Ignis, so this would be a good day. "But what did Miss Vinter say?"

"Yes, she can do it," said Tom.

"Yes!" said Ignis. Tom heard cheering in the background. "The four of us volunteered to bring their first batch of Wolfsbane potion, and all drink from the same batch, to prove that we endorse it, and transform with them. They liked that idea. I'm so glad it will work this month."

"How did you find them?" Hermione asked.

"This morning, Bramble noticed, well, you tell this part." The image in the mirror wobbled to show leafless trees and sky, then Bramble's face.

"Hello," said Bramble. "Yes, well, I noticed, in the slanting light of dawn, some tree shadows that didn't fall quite right, a sure sign of illusion. So, being an intelligent Ravenclaw, unlike some Gryffindors I won't name—"

"You'll never let me live that down, will you?" muttered Ignis.

"—and not wanting the others to worry, I told them all about it, you see Ignis, it was really very easy, and then the four of us investigated, together, for safety. Eric— Maybe I should hand the mirror to him."

The image wobbled, then Eric was blinking from the mirror. "Yes, well. Bramble was right about the illusion, so once I'd pierced that, I didn't see anything of note with my eyes, but then I dowsed for ley lines, and found one that led to a stone engraved with runes. They were in a variant of Elder Futhark I've never seen before, but I recognized some letters, and then I realized that if I swapped some of the unfamiliar letters with ones I knew, part of it read as the classic Proto-Norse curse, 'Haidzruno runu, falahak haidera, ginnarunaz. Arageu haeramalausz uti az. Weladaude, sa'z þat barutz. Uþarba spa.'"

"Oh," said Hermione knowingly.

"So obviously I wasn't going to touch that runestone." Eric grew animated, warming to his subject. "But it gave me enough information to decipher this runic alphabet. Then I did the arithmancical calculations to find the next runestone, and that was even more interesting, because it—"

"But the upshot is," interrupted Briar, "eventually a couple of werewolves came by and asked us if we needed sanctuary."

"They were really nice," said Eric. "I apologized for messing up their illusion, and they said not to worry about it, since they could just recast it."

"I suggested replacing it with a better one, but I'm getting ahead of the story," said Briar.

"Anyway," said Ignis. "We said we didn't need sanctuary, we were just there to talk, and then they got less friendly. They asked if we were from a different werewolf pack, so we said no, and they looked even more suspicious, and went to get their leader and their wardsmith, and some guards, to let us in."

"Guards?" repeated Hermione.

"Well yeah, eight of them held us at wandpoint, so we all kept our hands in the open so they could see we definitely weren't drawing our wands," said Ignis. "We explained Wolfsbane potion to the pack's leader, and she called a meeting of everyone and had us say the same thing again. They had a lot of questions. I told them I'd had no new Dark injuries for the last twelve moons, and they were very impressed. Most of the werewolves here came to this pack after they got too scarred to pass in human society. Anyway, once we'd told everyone about Wolfsbane, she called for volunteers to test the potion. A few stepped forward, and then she called some more to bring the number to ten. She picked the older, more crippled werewolves as test subjects. Anyway, assuming their test subjects like it, I imagine the whole pack will want it for the moon after that. Then they invited us to eat with them, and, well, we explained that we'd brought our own food, since what they were eating…"

"Lacked elegance," said Briar.

"And plates, and cutlery," added Bramble.

"I thought it was all right," said Eric. "I mean, once I banished the bits of wool off, and cooked it more."

The others conceded this point.

"Anyway," said Ignis, "we shared our food with them, and the leader let her followers eat it once she saw us take bites of it, and they seemed grateful to have proper food. They wound up eating most of the food we brought, but I figured you wouldn't mind. The guards didn't want to be left out, so they put their wands away, and pretty soon we were all just eating together and talking."

"That seems a good use for it," said Tom. Something was missing from this story. "So what was the embarrassing part?"

"The whole thing, really," said Ignis with a little laugh. "Now I feel silly for making a big deal out of this expedition. This pack was perfectly friendly to us, so there was no danger at all."

"Not everyone," said Tom, "would consider being held at wandpoint, inside the wards of a feral werewolf pack, to be 'no danger at all.'"

"It was fine," insisted Ignis. "My first and second encounters with werewolves gave me a bad impression, but this pack is different. They were already doing their best to avoid biting humans, setting up wards around their woods to keep them in and humans out. If I'd been found by this pack instead, I might have considered… Anyway. It sounds like their transformations aren't quite as bad as ours were, as having a pack to run with apparently helps, but they still have the problem of their wolf-forms struggling to get past the wolf-proof wards, with all the frustration and injury that entails. They're very interested in anything that could make their full moon nights easier, and of course, reducing the length of time it takes to recover afterwards."

"So for February's full moon," said Hermione, "the four of you will be in the company of ten feral werewolves who keep their human minds, and how many whose human minds are lost to the wolf?"

"I didn't count them," said Ignis. "About fifty, would you say?" He looked around at his teammates.

"Fifty-seven," said Eric.

"I'll tell Miss Vinter to be ready to prepare for a larger order for March's moon," said Tom.

"So just to be clear, you'll be trapped inside impassable wards with sixty-seven feral werewolves this February fifth," said Hermione.

"Yes," said Ignis with enthusiasm. "Transforming together is considered a sacrament here. They have this whole culture I knew nothing about. This will be fascinating! I might try to take notes with my left hand, not that I can write well with my left."

"Perhaps Miss Kettleburn will write a sequel, with more information," said Tom.

Bramble, with a worried expression, leaned into the mirror's view. "We didn't discuss price," he confessed. "These werewolves, they don't really use money. They just hunt and gather what they can."

"Some customers will take longer to turn a profit than others," said Tom. "Don't concern yourself with the financial side. That's my job."

Bramble shared some skeptical glances with his teammates, but just said, "Right."

"I'd like to talk with Eric about these wards," said Tom. "Not in detail," he said in answer to the look Hermione gave him. "Just in general terms."

Eric's face appeared in the mirror. His eyes, as blue as the sky behind him, looked like two holes through his head. "Yes, there are some fascinating wards here," he said with enthusiasm.

"That keep humans out?" Tom asked.

"Well, I didn't see any humans try to get in, but I think they would. I want to talk with their wardsmith about them."

"Good," said Tom. "Find out all you can. We need to provide the same security to our customers at the new dispensary."

Eric nodded. "Right."

Hermione leaned into the mirror's view. "Ignis, you could learn how to cast these wards too. I mean, they'll be on your house, so it would make sense—"

Ignis laughed. "This is really more Eric's specialty. I mean, with the runes and arithmancy and all, I'd just mess it up. He'll do a much better job, I'm sure."

"Hm," said Hermione.

"Thank you all for your excellent work," said Tom. "I'll leave you to schedule your ward-studies and potion deliveries at your convenience."

They said their goodbyes, and Tom closed his mirror. He turned to Hermione, whose expression was oddly troubled. "What?" he demanded. "This is the best possible news."

"We don't really know Eric that well," said Hermione. "To give him so much power, so close to this house…"

"It will be fine," Tom assured her.