Got a secret / Can you keep it? / Swear this one you'll save / Better lock it in your pocket / Taking this one to the grave

- The Pierces, Secret


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Claire hadn't exactly been invited to the gathering; she'd just followed along after overhearing there would be a gathering.

They'd always used to include her.

She'd tucked herself away at the back of the little group of Seventh Years. She knew what they were meeting about of course – that had been made pretty clear.

Hermione Dearborn was speaking, sat on the desk in an empty classroom on the Charms floor, one ankle crossed over the other in the vaguely scandalous trousers she'd taken to wearing at weekends since Christmas.

"I'll recap what we've found out so everyone's on the same page," she said, tossing her dark hair back over one shoulder in an annoyingly affected manner.

"The decision to stop children – a term I'm using as per the Ministry to describe everyone under the age of seventeen – practicing magic is basically being forced on the government by the Europeans, who introduced it as a post-Grindlewald measure to be seen to be doing something to control who's using magic – and how, and where. France, Germany, etc. – all the countries really affected by the war are trying to join together on various things and stop anything like that happening again. That's admirable in lots of ways, and sharing information is very much needed," she gave an odd smile, "but the downside is we're going to be affected by this particularly shitty law, and probably others in the future."

Her voice was so condescending. Claire wanted to rip her vocal chords out.

"Anyway, so in short – it's a political decision the Ministry's had to make to join the party. The reason I called it a shitty law is this."

A stack of parchment on the table dropped onto the table.

"Thanks to Sophia for this. It's a copy of the findings of study this law is based on. They're inconclusive, and woefully lacking the application of any critical thinking – and if that wasn't enough, this group of so-called Adepts tested a group of ten children over a six-month period."

This last part baffled Claire and, glancing around the room she saw mirrored confusion on several other faces. Dearborn shared an exasperated look with Riddle.

"To get even remotely reliable data on this sort of topic, I think you'd need to study the children over a several year period. You'd need a much bigger sample size – and a control group of course. It would be peer-reviewed in the Muggle world as atrocious crap."

"In the Muggle world?" Elaine Fawley interrupted, frowning. The Slytherin girl sneered.

"Yes," Dearborn replied, smiling dangerously as though she'd been looking forward to this. "Muggles have far, far superior research procedures to us. They're controlled, rigorous, and effective. It's called science, and with it they've done all sorts of really quite extraordinary things. Do try to catch up with the events of the last hundred years or so, Fawley."

Tom Riddle, Claire noted, was gazing at Hermione with what could only be described as adulation now. She frowned; he'd said some simply atrocious things about Muggles in her hearing before. Perhaps he simply enjoyed watching Hermione eviscerate someone.

"But - the argument that it is dangerous seems to have taken hold of people's imaginations and it's going to be very difficult to fight that. I've got some ideas but first, let's talk about the other more convincing argument – that inequality in this world is being perpetuated by the fact that Muggleborn children don't know anything about magic before they turn eleven. As far as I'm concerned, that is a problem – and before we can fight this law on scientific grounds we need to have a viable plan in place to deal with that."

This lead to a lengthy discussion, which Claire largely tuned out as she watched Hermione Dearborn. She'd learned to tune it out; that sort of conversation usually made her bitter and resentful of the ugly strain of mud in her own blood. A strain she blamed for so much. Instead, she watched how the group of Hogwarts' most elite students, with all four houses represented, listened to her rival in a way Claire had only ever seen them listen to Tom. She examined the slight tension belying nerves that sat like a blanket across the young woman's shoulders – well concealed, but not completely hidden from someone who'd studied her so long.

"But don't they steal it?" Roger Crabbe asked, frowning.

Claire stiffened. It was something people only said in whispers.

But Hermione Dearborn laughed.

"How," she asked scathingly, "could a non-magical child steal magic, without using magic?"

The boulder shaped boy flushed.

"They do, it's what we were told!"

"Do you also believe in Babbitty Rabbitty?" Sophia asked him. "Honestly Roge. Grow up. There are so many real problems with Muggleborns, can we just stick to those?"

"One of them," Tom spoke for the first time and Claire felt that odd chill coupled with a yearning to listen, to make him notice her, to obey, that she always felt when she heard his low, sibilant voice, "is the danger of exposure. Unlike Hermione, I don't really keep up with Muggle current affairs, but as many of you know I did grow up in that world – and I encountered few, if any, people who'd be forgiving of the power we hold. Witch hunts don't happen now – but only for lack of belief. Displays of wild magic as children is dangerous, telling parents is dangerous, children – even adults – with too much contact is dangerous. There are unimaginable numbers of them compared to us. I have no desire to be enslaved and used for my power – or to be hunted for it. Traditionally, many families took Mudblood children and adopted them as their own. They grew up with our traditions, in our world."

"But they're dirty," Roger Crabbe protested again. "It's a different species."

"They're not," Hermione Dearborn cut in. "They're really not. I personally think it's even more extraordinary that someone can be born with magic to non-magical parents. Don't you think that's something special, something that we should cherish? All magical beings are sacred, Roger. And people without magic are still people."

She'd lost them, Claire could see, and it made her smile.

"Why such vigorous defence of Muggleborns, Dearborn?" she cut in.

"For so many good reasons. Not least that being your own cousin weakens families. How many of you have relatives who are magically weak, erratic, hideous - mad?"

The room silenced suddenly. No one talked about these things. It wasn't done.

"That's inbreeding. Look at Tom. Half your pure blood – and astronomically more powerful than anyone you've ever met. That's not despite his Muggle blood – it's because of it."

Tom Riddle's face flashed with fury for a moment, but he didn't contradict her.

"That is possible, but unproven. Although," and he smiled now and Claire's hands shook with it, "I am certainly powerful."

"Back to the pressing issue at hand, I have a solution but it's not a short term one, I'm afraid."

Despite the witch's controversial words, and the frowns on some faces, they listened – even Avery and the Black cousins who were as staunch a set of blood-purists as she'd ever met.

"We'll have to commission an alternative study, carried out on a huge scale over a period of years. I want Adepts studying children in every country where magic's banned outside of school – and an equal number in magically open countries. The children's heritage, physical status, academic performance, power – that will all be studied over a period of at least five years in, if all goes to plan and I can find enough open-minded Adepts, twenty or more countries. We need to look at the short and long term effects on thousands of children. Not ten from one war-torn community."

"Well," Sophia Selwyn said after a stunned pause, "you don't do anything by halves. Who's paying for this?"

"I'm going to apply to the Ministry for funding. I expect they'll refuse – but when they do we can take that to the Prophet. I'll provide set up costs, labs – my father is talking to several well-respected researchers already to recruit people. I expect we'll have to find funding for it ourselves. But I really think this is important – and here's why. Looking at this pile of rubbish," she gestured to the German study, "I'm actually afraid it's damaging to limit magic like this. Has anyone gone without casting for an extended period? I think it could be linked to uncontrolled magic – as far as I can tell Muggleborn children have a much higher rate of damaging accidental magic, and I think that's because they don't have a proper outlet. If that's the case, then the importance of this study can't be understated – or the importance of finding a solution to the eleven years of ignorance. Children – magical children - have killed themselves with accidental magic. We can't let that happen."

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Hermione only paid half attention to the following discussion about funding and whose parents would be most on board to donate to such a radically new sort of research. She'd won a tremendous victory, a sort of mini-Enlightenment, and that was enough for now. Besides, watching Tom as he debated his peers – although they were hardly that – she was struck by how little she'd come to care about what he would be.

It had been cemented already.

Just two days before, Hermione had woken up to find that getting out of bed had seemed pointless, so she'd stayed there instead, staring at the canopy for hours. She'd tried to read, but that was pointless too. So she lay in bed, and thought about her parents, and couldn't cry.

Until Tom had come, sneaking in at lunch. He'd lain beside her in silence for a while, and when he'd gone he'd left an apple by her bed. She hadn't eaten it when he returned, everyone else at dinner, sliding back beside her, staying until she fell asleep. His silent presence had moved her more than any words, and she'd woken feeling able to face the world again. It wasn't her first grey day; there had been several at Hogwarts in her final year, and only Ginny had ever seen them. Ginny's method had to cajole, to feed, to tease. The days never lasted, and they'd grown less frequent as the rawness of the war faded.

As the others filtered out she watched him and when he looked at her, she looked back, the room drifting away somewhere less interesting.

She wanted him. All of him.

When they'd left, he slid onto the desk, head tilted to one side. His dark hair was perfect, robes pressed, face serene. Only the wicked glint in his dark eyes and the taunting pull in the left corner of his lips gave away his humanity.

"I think I'll go to the Library and get some research done," she murmured, taking a false step towards the desk where she'd slung her bag.

His mouth pulled a little further to the right as he silently watched her gather up her things.

"What are you going to do today?"

"Something troublesome and evil I expect."

"Perhaps," she said, "I should stay and distract you, then." She was gathering the reams of paper up, very close to him now.

Wordlessly, he knocked them onto the floor and, hand in the belt of her trousers, yanked her against him.

"I think you'd better," he murmured, holding her still as he examined her face. "God knows what I'd get up to otherwise."

She trembled in place, the game not quite over as he slowly undid the first two buttons of her blouse.

"Is the door locked?" she asked.

"No."

She pulled away, but he grabbed her wrists.

"I'll lock it soon. Don't move."

She didn't.

"I like watching you plot to change the world with logic. I like watching you twist people's prejudices against them," he told her, slowly dragging a finger along the skin of her back, under the back of her shirt. "I like watching you fillet those idiots."

"They're your choice of idiots."

He smirked, but didn't answer just pulled her between his legs, knees clamping on her hips. He still hadn't kissed her, but she was curious enough to wait and play the mouse to his cat.

"I want you," he said eventually, "properly. All of you. Today."

She exhaled in surprise.

It was time to make a choice – but without realising she'd already made it. Deception didn't suit her, not really. Not about this, when she cared so much.

"I want you. But first," she paused searching for the words, "I think it's time I told you my secret."

She couldn't take that step without him knowing, without knowing if it mattered to him.

"You have to make an vow of secrecy, though."

"Don't you trust me, Hermione?"

"It's not just my secret." Dumbledore had falsified her birth records. Cerdic was implicated too. And she did trust him, mostly. They'd stood side-by-side and killed two men. "I've trusted you with everything I can."

That was a truth; and perhaps he heard it because in answer he held his wand out. Without a Binder, they couldn't do an Unbreakable Vow - but this was the next best thing.

"Do you swear not to repeat what I'm about to tell you to anyone, in any language or written form, to deliberately hint or in other way attempt to lead someone to discover this matter?"

"I swear, on my magic."

A string of golden light poured from his wand, wrapping once around both their wrists before vanishing. She felt the warmth of it sink into her arm, and took a deep breath.

Courage, dear heart.

"I'm adopted. My parents," she laughed, slightly mad even to her own ears, "my parents were Muggles."

Were. Not are. They were. Will be again. Then will not be. She pushed the thought away, the grey fog that followed those thoughts was a blank, mindless prison.

What she felt was relief. Stark and uncompromising freedom. One less lie.

Tom didn't say anything, but he didn't move either. His face had gone blanker than she'd ever seen it.

"So now you know," she said and began to pull away. His knees clenched tighter, holding her in place, but whatever he might have said was stopped short by the choking laugh from the back of the room.

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So I never usually do cliffhangers but as a Halloween treat here you go. I'd like to work on this a little longer, but you've been wonderful and patient so I'm just going to post it. (And to my US readers, get out and vote - for all our sakes!)

Thank you for your apparently unending love and support. To those who review: you keep me writing. Really. Every lovely comment makes my day and ties me a little tighter to this story, which by the way I have no plans to abandon. I write for a living - not creatively - for ten hours a day, it's very hard to also write at home. You make a tremendous difference. To those who don't: you should, it's selfish.