"I think—and I could be mistaken—that Newt Scamander helped the old man ages ago, and He-Who-Is-Bearded has been dithering the whole time."
Tom gave him a curious look, moved to ignore his homework for the moment.
"I've been doing some checking. The newspapers, history texts, what have you. I think Dumbledore has been capable of dealing with his old flame since 1927, but he's just faffed around instead, being a teacher. Any bets it has to do with his sister?"
"As in, he doesn't know for certain which of them actually killed the girl, and is too much of a coward to look at that memory. Which, as a Gryffindor alumnus, is quite contemptible. So he … fears that the truth will be shoved in his face should he dare confront the man? Possibly even blackmailed with it?"
He nodded slowly. "Possibly. Scamander was in the US for a while, but returned here. Apparently the Ministry slapped a travel ban on him when he got back. It was shortly before he released the first edition of his book. But then he headed off to Paris anyway, because the papers there reported a whole kerfuffle with Grindelwald and his lot, and it filtered back to over here, to the Daily Prophet. Unfortunately, I was still too much taken in by the old man and didn't read the entirety—or even most of—that book by the bug, so I don't know the finer details. I don't even know where the actual battle takes place! In this country? Across the channel? I still don't get why everyone seems to think the old man is the only person who could equal or better Grindelwald. I mean, okay, he duels really well? He's excellent at transfiguration. And knows alchemy. Yay. But…?"
"I don't know," Tom said slowly. "The man must be exceptionally good at selling an image."
"The utterly hilarious thing was that Newt's unrequited love, Leta Lestrange, was against Grindelwald, and so was some guy named Torquil Travers, who was a British auror. This is hilarious because the Lestranges and some of the Travers happily joined the Other. I guess the Other had a more enticing, uh, manifesto?"
Tom hummed. "Certainly something to be aware of in the future."
"I don't know how we're going to get our hands on that wand if this duel takes place over the summer. Aside from the one idea of a house-elf. I mean, come to think of it, I don't even know, does the old man live here year round?"
Tom frowned, then sighed. "I don't know. And I am certainly not … friends … with any of the Hogwarts house-elves."
"But maybe one of ours can get the ones here to gossiping?"
"Perhaps."
"And speaking of when those two reunite… I'm still… I don't get it. That wand is said to be unbeatable in combat, which is why it's always been taken indirectly, such as by theft. And yet…? The book said something about emotional stuff, but everyone is convinced—er, was—that it was the duel to end all duels, and the old man was all terribly modest and said he was a shade more skilled. Something like that. So either the legend is wrong, or Giggles threw the fight after the emotional blackmail or whatever got past his defenses. I find the whole thing to be confusing."
"Hopefully it will not matter in the end. Hopefully we can get our hands on that wand and make it a non-issue," Tom said. "And hopefully, I can convince enough people of their idiocy and start changes in this country."
"Politely, one assumes. Or rather, slyly."
"Of course," Tom replied with the barest of offense. "I did say it was best done to approach things in a decidedly Slytherin manner, as opposed to the foolish Gryffindor activities taken by the Other."
"I will hope—as I am ridiculously optimistic at times, in all opposition to reason and evidence—that once the old goat has a tragic accident, it'll all just cease being a problem. That and the stick of doom being chucked into a dark hole somewhere, so to speak."
"And the stone."
He nodded. "The only one that doesn't have dire things connected to it is the cloak," he said, then added, "And I think it should be safely put away, certainly after certain things happen."
Tom proved to be quick on the uptake—or possibly still managing to skim his thoughts—when he replied, "Because little children should not have access to it."
"An eleven year old child should not have had access to it," he said. "It's an open invitation to getting into trouble, either by spying, breaking and entering, theft, and Merlin knows what else. It's not a bit of harmless fun."
"And you were too young, sheltered, and ignorant at the time to even have an inkling."
"Yeah. Which nicely segues into me wanting to be firm on the idea of ensuring our children are not ignorant and easily malleable for whoever is out there looking to use them. Age appropriate, yes, but not clueless and easy pickings. They need to know how to navigate shark-infested waters. I already expect you'll be more strict than me, but also better at preparing them for what's out there. I don't want them to be constantly wary and incapable of trust, but neither do I want them to be unthinkingly foolish. I've done more than enough of that."
Tom nodded. "How do you feel about a meritocracy?"
He blinked. "Advancement or power based on actual merit? Not nepotism or the old boy's club? Preferable, yes, but not to the detriment of those less capable. No reason to be unkind to the honestly less … whatever. The lazy, however, rather deserve to have their noses rubbed in it."
"Such as Ronald?"
"Yes. Hermione at least has a brain and isn't afraid to use it, nor do the hard work. Her being muggle-born should not be a block to her progress. Her personality, on the other hand…"
"She is abrasive," Tom said simply.
He hummed and changed the subject. "I've asked Pliffy to keep an eye out for new books, so the library at the house will be kept updated. Far too many books went missing over time here at the school, and likely in the shops."
"And what are your thoughts on learning foreign languages?" Tom asked.
He furrowed his brow. "Not adverse, I suppose. I mean, I've never been anywhere, and I never even saw the ocean until the end of my sixth year. But if we ever did… Knowing how to speak the language would be useful. Expecting them to speak English would be rather rude, and a translator might not be entirely honest.
"French would be an obvious choice. German sounds downright silly considering we're in a war with them, though we were allies then. It was Russia that was the problem, and yet we're allies with them now? Well, more so for the Americans, but…" He shook his head. Politics confused him. "But, I can't imagine even if the war ends when I expect it to, that anyone will be gearing up to cross the channel for a visit, not so soon.
"I mean, what do people think will happen?" he asked. "Giggles is defeated in whatever way that happens, and all his faithful minions will just do a one-eighty and become productive members of society within the existing infrastructure? Rather like it happened then with the first part of the war? Some did go to Azkaban. They were proud of their affiliation—and possibly completely mental. But some slithered out of trouble like a good Slytherin, with honeyed words, bribes, or possibly blackmail. Or that one dude, who sorta did, but only because he threw other people under the bus in order to escape most of the punishment due him."
Tom frowned, and Harry couldn't tell if it was due to the disloyalty or the phrase he used. Then again, context, right?
Ω
The ball at Malfoy Manor was (in his mind) a bit over-the-top ostentatious, but in a bizarrely understated "yes we have gobs of money but see no need to scream that" way. It didn't make any sense to Harry, but considering he grew up in a cookie cutter neighborhood filled with pretentious gossips and blind-to-abuse idiots who played the game of oneupmanship poorly, perhaps there was a reason for that.
'Well, that and because they've likely had this manor since they crossed over from France, so it does make a certain sense?' he thought as he graciously greeted their hosts for the evening. He was tricked out in the latest (rich person) wizarding fashion and the necklace Tom gifted him with was prominent around his neck, as if it wasn't a way to tell everyone that he belonged to Riddle, that he was claimed.
The fact that he would undoubtedly forget the names of said hosts almost as quickly as they moved out of sight was beside the point, though he did quickly tag the encounter. They were good, though, as they never once cast their eyes over the lordship rings they were wearing.
He drifted along at Tom's side, smiling when required, accepting a glass of wine to hold and sip from, and was relieved when the wizarding equivalent of cocktails was over and dinner was ready to be served.
The place settings were overwhelming for Harry, what with so many utensils, and why were they all facing downward?
«Parisian-style,» Tom hissed quietly.
«Please tell me I can just copy what you do,» he hissed back just as quietly.
Tom smiled at him and handed him into his seat, then took his own.
So there was that, because he did not have the first clue how to handle that much cutlery. Clearly there were rules, but he could fake it by turning to Tom to say something, anything, and spy out which ones he was using for—multiple courses? Most likely. Still, Tom could have warned him, and he could have had the sense to ask.
The first course was served in a small ceramic dish, and puffed over the top. It barely looked like it would feed a mouse. A look around disguised as taking in the room showed him what to do, so he began to eat. It was nice enough, and cheesy, so he had no complaints aside from the size. And without knowing how many courses, even that might not be a downside.
Someone relieved his ignorance by asking how he liked the cheese soufflé.
"It's lovely," he said, wishing dinner was over, the dancing was over, and all of this was already a distant memory.
Tom chose that moment to compliment the Gruyère in it, which gave Harry every excuse to turn toward him, and then become (mostly) non-verbally engaged in a discussion of current affairs, of which Harry naturally knew fuck-all about. That carried them through the dishes disappearing and being replaced with a tiny salad.
'Dear Merlin, I hope the main course is something substantial.' It was tasty, but it was tiny. At least eating meant he had an excuse to not talk.
The main course was pork medallions with caramelized onions and apples, which was gratifyingly more filling, and again gave him every excuse to remain mostly quiet while faking interest in the conversation. Others were carefully feeling Tom out about his politics, which served as another lesson in double-talk, if nothing else.
He couldn't decide if he was coming off as passive to the people around them or wise to be reticent. Dessert was poached pears with a chocolate sauce. 'Because really, it's just not the done thing to have English fare in England when your family hails from France, right? Never mind that you've lived here since your lot came over in 1066 with William the Conquerer, so not exactly just a decade or two.'
Eventually they were invited to adjourn to the ballroom so the dancing could begin. That was a stately progression of "important" people to a massive room with a very high ceiling, and a small orchestra to provide the music. All Harry knew at that point was that he was bored out of his mind and tired of enigmatic smiles. It was so bad he was grateful when Tom led him out onto the floor for a waltz.
"You're dying inside, right?" Tom asked lowly, barely moving his lips.
He smiled and nodded as they swept around the floor. "That's one way to put it. You do realize that I can't call you Riddle in public after a certain point."
Tom smiled right back. "I know. And you cannot shorten it, unlike your own."
"So, how long do we stay?"
"Another hour, at least."
Which probably translated to two. "Lovely. And this'll be a thing yearly."
Tom nodded. "Better than Wizengamot meetings."
He laughed. "I do hope you'll be extra nice to me later tonight, for making me endure what might be seen as torture."
"How about a massage?"
He hummed. "That would be lovely."
Unfortunately, whatever tune they were playing drew to a close shortly after, because if it was a choice of standing around, sipping wine, and listening to people talk about things he just didn't care about, or worse, dancing with strangers (likely women), he would much rather spend the next hour or two on the dance floor with Tom, waltzing. He already knew that would be considered rude, and therefore would not be happening. Nor would he fake an illness, claim a headache or issues with crippling social anxiety, or do anything that would set either of them in a poor light.
The rest of the evening was a mixture of pretending to be interested in various conversations (and indeed, commenting every so often so that people did not erroneously believe he was mute), having the occasional waltz with Tom (which ended up being a nice breather), and being pleased that random women did not try to lure him out onto the floor. The serpent necklace was clearly an effective deterrent.
"I despised that," he said once they were home.
"Even the food?" Tom asked as he guided Harry up to their suite.
"No, that was fine, but I despaired of getting enough food with how it started out. So not used to high society ways and no idea what to expect. But, as I realized, I could have asked you what to expect, because odds are, you'd already know."
Tom nodded. "And I could have thought to mention it. For that, I apologize to you. But yes, because it's hard to blend in and sway people to your side if you appear an outsider or outlier."
"We both failed on that one," he said, "and no harm done, so let's not get fussed over it."
Tom hummed and drifted to a stop. "Do you wish to shower first?"
His mind went blank for a few moments, then remembered the promised massage. "It was quite warm with so many people there, so yes. And then I can forget all of that. Until next year, anyway."
Ω
Yule was again a bother in his opinion, if only because he had to dream up another idea for both a Yule and birthday gift for his lover, and he was pants at gifts. He had already gotten him a cloak, so scarf and gloves seemed to follow on. He asked Pliffy to arrange for a selection of heavy silk scarves, plus a set of fine leather gloves. But that only covered Tom's birthday.
For Yule… 'Perhaps a forward-looking gift?' he thought. 'Something for the family, as much as it is for him and us. Or something to follow on from what he gave me?'
To that end he searched through his memories, then had a meeting with his house-elves.
When the morning of the twenty-fifth dawned they had breakfast, then adjourned to the sitting room. Under the modest tree were several packages. Tom picked one up and offered it to him; it was fairly small, about the size of a book. Inside was a book that would help clear up the mystery of British (and even French) etiquette and manners amongst the high class part of society. Which, useful, and something he was already considering looking for.
Tom looked smug at his thank you, though why he wasn't sure. It rather did follow on that something of this nature would be useful. Instead of worrying over it he grabbed the smaller of the two packages he'd had placed under the tree, and handed it over.
His lover carefully unwrapped it and stared for a moment, then nodded. "I like them. And it will serve as a way of telling who has bothered to do their research. Thank you, Hadrian," he said as he picked up first the necklace so he could more closely examine the Deathly Hallows pendant, then the cufflinks. "They are a lovely, thoughtful gift."
He smiled, pleased that they had been interpreted as meant, then grabbed the other, larger gift under the tree, which caused Tom's brow to raise. "I was thinking and … decided to borrow an idea from my past. Something for this family, going forward. We can make use of it, but the use of it has no end, so…"
Tom accepted it and carefully unwrapped it. His blank stare told Harry he would have to explain, so he did, what Scrabble was and why it mattered.
"Actually," he said, "I'm pretty sure this came out amongst the muggles—or was conceived as an idea—a few years ago? But it wasn't popular for some years. Either way, it's both a game and a teaching tool of sorts, good for two to four players. You may not have noticed, but I'm not a huge fan of Exploding Snap or Gobstones. This requires more than just luck."
His lover looked thoughtful for a time, then said, "And if we know more than just English…"
"And teach the same to any children…"
Tom nodded. "Then yes, I see your reasoning and approve. It is a good idea."
"I'll say right now that while chess can be good for teaching strategy, I'm pants at it. Which, really, would explain why I didn't use that for an idea, that and I learned to loathe the game after being press-ganged into playing it so often with Ron. There's another game I have in mind, but perhaps next year. That one can be, admittedly, a tiny bit silly."
Tom's mouth quirked. "But silly can make a child interested."
He hummed. "I've become a big fan of the idea of tricking the young into learning."
"Now for the other part of your Yule gift…"
Ω
"So, uh, approximately how long once we're back here post-NEWTs before you tie me to the bed and sweet talk me into having a child?" he asked, feeling weirdly daring.
Tom's gaze slid over his way. "My dear, we would need to be bonded first. Which, since it is now a topic of conversation, is something we should be planning."
"This far out?" he asked in disbelief.
"Society expects to be notified months in advance. Therefore, we must have something planned so that we might invite the right people."
Harry groaned softly. "But nothing big. This is not a three ring circus, it is us affirming we belong to each other." He damn near laughed at the look on Tom's face, but managed to keep his expression clear.
"As well, consider this. Would you want the bonding done here?"
"Ugh. That's a choice between having outsiders traipsing around our house and knowing what the security is, or having it in some theoretical neutral location with possibly unverifiable security. Plus," he added, "whether or not it would be seen as insulting not to have it here, or wise to have it elsewhere."
"Once again, I say you are better at this than you believed," Tom said with a faint smile. "Having it here would be more … intimate … and be seen as something of an honor for those in attendance. Also, there would be less chance of anyone from the Daily Prophet nosing around. There has not been a great deal of chatter about either of our lordships, but bondings are always of interest."
"And elsewhere would mean the opposite, with a side of potential crashers and nosy reporters."
"There are no Rita Skeeters at present, I believe. There is a touch more decorum in this time. Even so, preventing anything of that nature, such as an up-and-coming journalist looking to capitalize on this event…"
"Could we toss together a temporary building on the grounds?" he asked. "Keep people out of the actual house, but still have a place to do this that's considered acceptable? A pavilion or something. I realize that later on we might actually have to let select people visit in the house itself, but…"
Tom nodded. "It is your house, my dear, and I am not about to try to convince you otherwise. If you recall, it is my preference for house-elf workers for any ventures we go in on, rather than having human employees traipsing all over the place. The alternative would be my home, but that is rather small in comparison."
"And might offend any die-hard Slytherins because it is so small," he said. "Which, stupid, but then I've never accused pure-bloods of having much in the way of sense. I mean, at some point there would be people visiting. Small parties or friends of the children. Can't avoid it forever, though it does make me think that any greenhouses must be warded against outsiders."
"True, any child of mine would—"
"Hold up," he said, his hand going up as well. "While I apologize for interrupting, this is something that needs to be addressed now, rather than later. You said to me a ways back that I should not be setting a bad example for any children of ours with my cursing habit. I even agree, which is why I've only been doing so in the privacy of my own mind. I don't want them to develop bad habits, either. But what you just said, and what you too often say, that needs to change, for much the same reason. You keep—"
Tom interrupted him right back, his expression a bit chagrined. "Referring to these as yet unborn children as mine, rather than ours."
"Yes. And while I honestly believe you don't mean ill by it, it would be all too easy for a child to interpret that to mean I am just a convenient incubator and not to be respected. And said around outsiders would be as bad or worse. In either case you would be undermining me."
"And no self-respecting person would stand for that." Tom nodded. "You are entirely correct, my dear. I will endeavor to no longer speak in that fashion. I apologize to you for being so thoughtless and for ever giving the impression that I think you are less than me."
"Thank you. I mean, I understand, I get it. You're very possessive. And yet."
"And yet." Tom nodded again. "I have once again been brought up short regarding my behavior."
He shrugged in response. He was certainly no Dumbledore, so that counted for something.
"I agree that some would interpret using my home as an odd sort of insult, despite it being a home of Salazar's," Tom then said, going back to the original topic, "and that we will, eventually, have actual visitors in the guest wing. A pavilion of sorts on the grounds would be an acceptable compromise. Most would not expect us to be immediately ready, having only just finished our schooling, to entertain guests within the house itself, certainly not right after a bonding. I also agree that any greenhouses should be warded against outsiders. While we might not be dependent on them for funds, they would still be a form of leverage or influence that we cannot afford to have meddled with. And if you do manage to figure out how to craft those fountain pens for us to sell, any trees we need would need some form of protection as well, assuming we grew them ourselves."
Harry made a face. "Trees take so long to grow, but growing them ourselves—if I used wood rather than metal—would guarantee they weren't, er… Adulterated? Tainted? By the muggles. I'm not sure about right now, but I know from my original time they used chemicals, pesticides, and while it wouldn't matter as much for a pen, such that buying from them would work, I definitely wouldn't want to use anything like that myself. Wards, though. But this property has plenty of room, so maybe we could. It'd be years before we could harvest our own. The only other thing I can think of would be a parchment alternative, but I'm not sure about the paper-making process, and if we have enough room to make that viable. That is, in addition to the room necessary for food or potions ingredients."
Tom shook his head. "Let's just pick one and see how it goes. It's entirely possible we could, as we go on, acquire more land, and possibly branch out."
"Right. So we need to plan a pavilion, a menu, music, who would officiate, the guest list, the invitations, our clothing…"
Ω
Back at school it was more of the usual with classes, study, and wondering who was going to be the first to crack and go mental over the stress. Harry just didn't care beyond doing the best he could. He already had plans for his future, plenty of gold, and there weren't any antecedents to appease with his life choices or suffer recriminations from. Or possibly worse, suffer through grandiose plans made for him because that's how things had always been done.
He did want to get to know Hagrid, but it was simply too much of a bother to fit in around everything else. Aside from thinking that Hagrid would probably get along like a house on fire with Scamander, he had no real basis for trying to get those two talking.
The best he might manage is an anonymous letter to each of them, scrubbed clean of any way to identify him as the sender. 'Though,' he thought, 'an alternative—if I do set up creatures on the property—is to contact Scamander for a consultation on proper environments for them. Even if I didn't go through with it, it'd be an excuse should he show up to offhandedly mention Hagrid.'
Of course, that couldn't happen until after their bonding. And while he would discuss the idea with Tom, he would be the one nominally in charge of greenhouses and/or potential creature habitats, so it was his decision in the end. As bad as it might sound, Peverell Manor was his, not theirs, and it would go to whichever child succeeded him as Lord Peverell. Even odds that Tom would grow the Slytherin money to be able to create a new seat, possibly on the existing Slytherin property, or keep that as a get away and purchase land for a proper estate.
He could help that along, in theory, if he ransacked his memory to remember what made money back in the day—or rather in his present and future—but that was all muggle stuff, which meant then figuring out how to convert proceeds in one "world" to their own. Though, perhaps, Tom might have a better grasp on that situation.
Then again, they were going in equally on the whole greenhouse venture, so they'd both be making gold off that. As well, assuming one kept their wits about them and used proper contracts, they could invest in people who were competent, business minded, and in the market for funding, all in exchange for a percentage of profits. Preferably, people with open minds and forward vision, not hidebound old fusspots.
Maybe they could work toward slowly, incrementally, inching things forward by encouraging certain people. Innovation and progress were practically stagnant, so was it any wonder there were metaphorical mosquitoes and disease. And if history said anything, it was that stagnancy eventually bred revolutionaries, people who refused to sit complacently and make do with what was.
The much more difficult issue was long term, and he didn't have a clue how to approach that festering sore. How were they to continue to keep separate from the muggle population on a planet with finite space, with muggles who scrambled to ask why and then go hunt down answers, muggles with their tech that allowed them to see more and more as time went by?
He shook his head. As for the bonding, the guest list was rather larger than he would like, but he could see the sense in who had been invited. He wrestled with the opposing arguments in his mind, between the idea that the bonding was for them and should therefore only encompass what mattered to them, and the idea that allowing in outsiders would smooth the way for Tom politically.
If nothing else, it was just the two of them deciding. The pavilion was a neutral cream in colour and quite large, so that it could accommodate seating for the guests, with one end sectioned off with more cream-coloured silk where the house-elves could stage things in readiness for the swap between ceremony and the following celebration phase of dinner and dancing. After all, the weather might not cooperate, and the pavilion would be spelled to keep out insects.
An officiant was not an issue, not with so many people in Slytherin gossiping about who so-and-so had chosen for their bonding, and how lucky there were to secure so-and-so's services. Tom simply made a list of the names, did some research on each of them, then picked one. He did share his findings with Harry, and as Harry picked the same person, it worked out.
Food courses were another thing they had to decide on. For that, however, Harry asked his house-elves to do some checking, basically to go have a good old fashioned gossip with elves in other families. He also did some checking in the society section of past issues of the Daily Prophet, to see what had been reported as served at other bondings, and even galas.
Tom had no issue with his methods. After all, house-elves could get that information with discretion, and anyone could parse through back issues of the paper. The menu was set with little fuss. Naturally, every dish on it was something both of them liked, and to hell with the guests. It was their bonding.
The NEWT exams loomed and the seventh years mostly went mental with stress. Harry was keeping an exceptionally tight rein on his mood, mainly by accessing memories he had tagged which would help him maintain his zen. The last thing he needed was for Tom to decide he had been a "bad" boy and paddle him as punishment.
'It's odd, though,' he thought, 'how even though I know I wouldn't like it to happen again, the idea of it still rather turns me on.'
Tom passed a parchment over to him, so he gave it a look. "Revision schedule?"
"Of course."
'And if I don't follow it…' He nodded. "Should I assume you somehow got your hands on the exam schedule?"
Tom smirked at him. "The NEWTs have been done in the exact same order for years, possibly decades."
"Oh. That … makes sense. The wizarding world isn't exactly known for innovation and progress."
"We have four weeks until they begin, so that is plenty of time to go over things. From what previous seventh years have said, the professors do little in the way of teaching new material."
He glanced at the schedule again. "So we go over everything, then again, then the exams. Only I'll do Care while you do Astronomy." There was no space for Muggle Studies, not that he expected any. He had only taken the OWL for it on a lark, and as he would have to work for the Ministry to make a NEWT in it worthwhile, there was really no point. That Tom had left no space for it was probably a reasoned decision, with a side of unspoken disapproval toward the idea of bothering.
"Basically."
He nodded. "All right. So, Monday evening. I don't suppose there's much point in me bothering with Muggle Studies again." He knew he was right with his speculation when Tom's expression went a bit smug. "I do think that I should keep up on muggle events, though. There's potentially a lot of money to be made on that side. Though, only you have an identity there. Suppose I could figure out how to make one for myself. Of course, I'd have to remember what companies to invest in. And…"
"And?"
"Well… World War II was bad enough. I mean, the Manhattan Project produced nuclear weapons, which were used to nuke two cities in Japan, Nagasaki and Hiroshima. So many people died. The thing is, where I came from, there were lots of nukes, multiple countries had them. It was like this uneasy tension, especially between Russia and Europe. And, well, the US. They called it the Cold War. Just imagine people in all corners, a finger hovered over the big red button that'd launch nukes. What happened in Japan was bad enough, but if too many went off, it'd have the net result of exterminating life on our planet.
"So I want to at least keep up to date. I think the Statute of Secrecy is absolutely necessary, and that wizards who want to mess around with muggles… I mean, it's not like I can stop them, but…"
"But kidnappings and using any magic back inside our borders…"
"Yeah," he said. "An extreme view on things would be to find a way to drive all muggles off this island, and make it look to the muggles in other countries that this is a toxic wasteland. Somehow. So we could just be. But on the other hand, I know the Americans managed to get a spaceship to the moon, and there's always been science fiction novels about colonizing other planets. But that's also rather unlikely. More so, even, because too many wizards think the muggles are clever talking monkeys and absolutely not a threat. Maybe the Isle of Man? It's not large, by any means, but it'd be easier to drive muggles off of. Again, make them think it's toxic or weirdly unstable or something. We'd still have to contend with the technology the muggles come up with."
"Such as?"
Tom seemed to be taking him seriously, at least, which was good.
"Uh… There were cameras, lots of them. I can just imagine some wizard out for a bit of muggle baiting, getting caught on camera, and then they'd have some proof, might get them to start digging for more information, adding more cameras in the public to record things. I mean, televisions aren't much of a thing right now, but they will be. Small, portable cameras. Small, portable telephones that can also take pictures or video. It's just going to get worse and worse, and the muggles are forever asking 'why' and using their science to figure out everything and anything."
Tom frowned thoughtfully. "I suppose," he said slowly, "that if we could acquire enough muggle money, we could attempt to start buying up land on the Isle of Man. Drive the muggles together over time, and ward everything we have against them. And then perhaps manufacture an incident where they feel forced to depart entirely for this landmass. We would have to have everything prepared to protect the entirety of the island once we managed to get rid of them. Perhaps the Imperius Curse to … encourage them … to leave, a family at a time?"
He pursed his lips. "Like a non-fatal disease that mysteriously gets better once they're off the island?"
"That could work. They leave for England, perhaps, and get better, but when they return to the Isle of Man, they become sick again. They sell to us and leave for good."
"They had satellites, too. Machines in orbit around the planet. They could take pictures of the surface. I have no idea how we'd get around those. As for funds, well… Investing in companies I remember made a lot of money. But if we could figure out a way to get our hands on stuff like raw gold and silver, maybe gemstones, those could be sold in the muggle world. Because otherwise, we'd have to be hunting down criminals and robbing them blind."
"And you do not wish to take the gold you have in Gringotts to resell, because that would negatively impact your wealth, for yourself and the Peverell family."
He nodded.
"There is alchemy, though only the Flamels are known to have succeeded in transmuting base metals to gold."
Harry frowned and looked off to the side, toward where the door usually appeared when they used a shortcut into the Room of Requirement. "I wonder how flexible the Room is. And also, if we could make enough to start buying people out, getting them to leave that island, we could potentially have a lot of room to produce food. Greenhouses could be used so we could ignore seasonal issues."
"We could attempt to take over that market, especially if we could undercut prices from wherever the majority of grown food is obtained from. If we did succeed in basically driving the muggles away, we would then be in the enviable position of selling plots to other wizards. Though, we'd have to raze any and all muggle structures prior to that."
"We'd also have to purchase a lot more house-elves, but it's not like I can't afford them."
Tom's brow furrowed. "With any luck, the Room can and will provide information enough for us to be able to transmute enough raw gold. Selling it, however… The goblins might become far too nosy."
He wondered if that expression had everything to do with him being quite wealthy, and Tom not. "Learn how to cast or mold base metals into statues or whatever, and then transmute them into gold versions to sell. Such as, target pure-blood families. Jewelry or decorations which incorporate their family symbol. The Black Family crest has greyhounds on it. Peverell is obvious with the symbol of the Deathly Hallows."
"And the Malfoy Family uses wyverns and snakes. It would be an interesting way to hide the origins of the transmuted gold," Tom said, giving him an approving smile before fetching out a journal so he could begin writing, presumably a list of points from their discussion.
Shortly thereafter they were making their way to the Room of Requirement, disillusioned, to do some requiring.
Ω
As he was going over Transfiguration and making a bullet list, he had to wonder if they could pull it off. The Room had provided a number of books, ones they were able to successfully remove, which meant they were real. Why they hadn't been in the Room of Lost Things version he couldn't figure, but… Unfortunately, they had to revise for the upcoming exams, so perusing those books was not a priority.
The professors had shifted to revision themselves, but in the form of essays. That made him wonder, as they did not have normal end of year exams and therefore no grade as determined by each professor, if any of them even read the things, or if they assigned a grades that were in keeping with each student's averaged performance that year.
"Do you have any idea how far back they test on?" he asked after jotting down a dozen more points.
Tom looked up from his own revision and said, "There's an overlap. For the most part they ignore everything covered on the OWL exams, but they still hit certain fundamentals from earlier. Anyone who did well on their OWL and has continued to do well for the final two years should not have problems.
He nodded and went back to making his list. They only had one book for that, as aside from the usual information, students past OWLs were also attempting to learn to do their spellcasting nonverbally, and on harder spells. Tom was making his own list, and finished at roughly the same time.
Harry summoned Pliffy and requested a snack for them, plus drinks, then pushed both book and list aside so he could enjoy those.
Tom took his share, but made a copy of his list and pushed it over to Harry, saying, "Let me see yours."
"So we can see if either of us missed something? Sure." He handed a copy of his over, then read through what Tom had come up with. There were points he had not thought to note down, so he added them to his own.
The spent the next two hours tossing random questions at each other in a type of quiz, then called it done for the night. All their evenings were the same that first week, going over each subject, making their lists, sharing, then quizzing each other. The sticking point was of course Care of Magical Creatures and Astronomy. Neither had bothered with the other past OWL level, so each had to make do for those.
The second week was two hours of reading in the evening, followed by more quizzing. And, on Sunday evening, they went over Charms again. The schedule of exams for NEWTs was basically the same as for OWLs (but given how stagnant things could be it was no surprise to Harry). Afterward he entreated Tom to make love to him, they showered, and then fell into bed to sleep.
Ω
He was exceedingly glad for all the revision they had done when he was waiting to start the written portion for Charms. Rather than the Great Hall (which was being used by the OWL students), they had been separated by House into rooms on the ground floor, normally used for club meetings. And, since everyone was in some sort of exam or studying for exams, it wasn't as if anyone could complain that their clubrooms had been appropriated.
Not that Harry cared if they did. He might not be going into a job anytime soon—he would have plenty enough on his hands with greenhouses and breeding—but the exams were important, not only for any future positions, but also his reputation as Lord Peverell. He knew damn well it would look good if he did well (and he had every intention of doing so), but also look good that he had managed to snag Lord Slytherin as a partner.
The proctor cleared his throat, which snapped his focus forward, rather than inward. A quick rules explanation later and he began his written. His hand was aching by the time they were called to stop, and he gratefully went off with Tom, to sit just outside the entrance hall to wait while it was transitioned over from exam room to a meal setting. The practical exam afterward was much less taxing, unless he counted the long wait until his name was called.
Sadly, after dinner was the next round of revision.
The week passed in a blur of aching hands, spellcasting, and revision, and he was so glad when the Ancient Runes exam was finished on Friday. Everyone seemed too tired at dinner to talk, and quietly walked back to Slytherin. Harry followed Tom to their room and collapsed on a bed.
"One more week," Tom said, "and then we're free."
He made a kind of groan in this throat, a grainy sound, and sighed. "One more week. This is definitely so much more draining than the OWLs. And I still think it's horrible that they don't have the Astronomy exam on a Friday."
"I agree," Tom said, taking a seat beside him. "But, as it's Muggle Studies the next morning, I can always sleep in, get something from the kitchen, and still have time to revise before lunch, for the History exam. You are lucky. You get Wednesday off."
He brightened at that. "I do, don't I. I'm doing neither Divination nor Astronomy. Suppose that gives me time to do a more thorough check of all points historical."
"How old was Lupin when he was bitten?"
He frowned in confusion at the abrupt subject change, then said, "I think he was six."
"So we likely do not have to worry about Greyback until the 1960s, if what I recall of when your original parents attended is true."
"Yeah. And Greyback was still, er, vigorous during my previous time here, so he can't have been on in years. Maybe … when we get home, we can set up a ledger or something, with an admittedly vague timeline for events we can refer to, kept out of sight of anyone else. Oh, I just had an idea."
Tom repositioned himself so his back was supported by a bedpost. "Hm?"
"The ring. Maybe swing it as a type of dead man's switch. I mean, Giggles won't be dead, but the trigger could be incapacitation—his incarceration—or death. Make it look like he sent it to the old goat."
Tom smirked with pleasure. "I like it. I do hold some anxiety that it might make him more cautious as to what's inside, though. Though, he went for it originally, as you indicated, which means the lure of its powers overwhelmed his caution. After all, he knew who had placed it there, and still wore it."
He gnawed on his lower lip for a moment. "He originally took it despite knowing who placed it. If it came to him as sort of a 'you deserve to have this if you managed to defeat me' way, it might have the effect of making the old goat feel … superior? And that Giggles has always been thinking of him?"
"It's down to which we think is more likely for him to throw caution to the wind and fail to check it first, either coming from an admirer, or coming from … Giggles." Tom looked almost offended at hearing that nickname come from his own mouth.
"That's what I'm stuck on, having thought of the alternative. Is it better coming from a known entity or an unknown. Or do we pretend a house-elf left it there because they witnessed it falling out of his pocket and returned it? It's not as if I can waltz on up to the man and give him the ring."
Tom chose not to belabor the obvious. "I do like the alternative of … Giggles, but I think I prefer the original idea, that it's from an admirer, someone who thought … someone as learned as the old goat would find it of interest. Along those lines. There would be less overt or obvious…"
He hummed. "Yeah. It's more of a risk showing it as coming from Giggles. I'm now divided on whether it'd be worse coming from Giggles or me, but neither is probably worth the risk in the end."
Tom nodded. "Then either an adoring fan, or it falls out of his pocket according to a house-elf."
If nothing else, breaking up revision with talks about various non-school things was helpful overall. It helped to break the tension surrounding the remainder of the exams. Having something to look forward to that wasn't…
"I'm starting to think that he won't go after Giggles until school lets out," he said unhappily. "Germany surrendered already, last month. The bombs get dropped during the first two weeks of August, and the war officially ended on the second of September, previously."
Tom sighed, looking rather put out. "Then we can hope, given previously he returned to the school, that he fully intends to come here afterward to prepare for the next school year. I think we're going to have to go with the adoring fan route."
"And possibly grave robbing." His nose wrinkled.
"Yes. We have tonight and tomorrow to rest. I suggest we make the most of it."
Ω
The second week of exams was just as much of a blur. Revision each night, exams by day, with a break for Harry on Wednesday. Then they were done and recovering. The Slytherin seventh years had no stomach for politics on that last day. They were all too tired. Dinner was very quiet at their section of the table. If anything, students of lower years looked pleased that they no longer had to deal with the hair-trigger tempers many had been displaying. The fifth years were not as bad, but still an issue.
'Sucks to be them when it's their turn,' he thought.
"It's ridiculous we can't just go home the day after," he said once they were back in the common room. "Why keep us here?"
Tom smoothly guided him to their dorm room and shut the door behind them. "I suggest we shower," he said, treating Harry's question as rhetorical.
"Are we spending the evening in the common room or here?"
Tom damn near rolled his eyes. "I can think of nothing more exhausting than to spend our evening out there, listening to the chatter of those who did not have OWLs or NEWTs."
He hummed and headed into the bathroom, shedding his clothes along the way, and dumping the lot into the hamper. The shower itself was lovely and comforting, but he could only stand so long under deliciously warm water before he wanted to just nod off.
They were seated on one of the beds, backs to the wall, when he said, "I mean it, though. We're of-age wizards, we've completed our NEWTS, so why must we stay another week?"
"And Lords."
"And that."
The last thing he wanted to do was be like Granger, with her endless worrying and fretfulness over anything and everything to do with her answers and performance. They were done, it was over. It would be … strange. He had spent eight years at Hogwarts and now he would never return, not unless he took up teaching. He was too tired to fret over the upcoming bonding, and that was something that spiked his tension level every so often what with how intricate the planning was on so many levels, all to satisfy both themselves and society.
Tom heaved a sigh. "Let's just go to bed."
It was early, too early, but he was exhausted from two weeks of exams, so he nodded.
The week that followed was boring as fuck in his opinion. They literally had nothing to do but sit around. Tom at least could be politicking to an extent. With nothing better to do he had Pliffy bring him a book on rituals so he could explore the possibilities, and that kept him occupied. He had yet to find any ritual he would want to perform on himself, but there were rituals he was interested in, most of which covered each solstice, equinox, and cross-quarter.
He had no idea if Tom was interested, or even if pure-blood families participated, but given how he had never heard of them before (with the exception of the bastardization resulting in things like Hallowe'en and Christmas), he had to wonder if that was something Dumbledore's interference had covered up. And, again, part of why pure-blood wizards and witches were so scornful of muggle-born.
At least now he would have the time to do research beyond the norm.
Ω
When they were finally allowed to leave he had Pliffy take their belongings straight to Peverell Manor, then rode a carriage down to the station. The train was ignored in favor of apparation. They would be seeing Tom's associates soon enough as it was, and they had to go over a lot of details in preparation for the bonding.
They did a trial run of the pavilion, first setting it up in the bonding configuration, and testing to see how quickly the elves could swap to the one for dining.
"I hate it," he said. "I think we need two of them, side by side, one for the bonding and one for dining. After the food is served and everyone is eating, the elves can transition the bonding tent over to a dance floor."
"Which would mean our guests would not have to stand and move out of the way either time, and those who did not wish to dance would still have seating."
"Right. You agree?" he asked, gazing at his soon-to-be husband.
Tom gave him a soft kiss. "Yes. They will need to stand in either case, but in the latter it makes more sense. We shall do that."
Pliffy nodded where she was standing, so Harry knew it would be taken care of.
NEWT results should arrive in a week, most likely. Despite the fact that most students taking them already had something lined up, it was still a given that the appearance of them being needed early to allow for time for an alumnus to line something up was necessary.
Or, he supposed, gnash their teeth over having to hire tutors so they could pay a fee to re-take one or more exams at the Ministry, or repeat their seventh year if they had truly done horribly overall. He fully expected Tom to get straight Os. What he got was not as much of an issue, so long as he did not embarrass himself. He should get, at the very least, EEs, so it should be all good.
"Menu is set, the goods are here," he said, glancing at Pliffy, who nodded, "and our outfits are decided."
"Master should do a final fitting," Pliffy said.
He sighed. "Not a bad idea."
Back inside and in their suite, Pliffy and Wilda produced their outfits so they could put them on. The Peverell colours were a silvery grey, bone white, and black, but that would not do for a bonding outfit, at least not in the normal proportions. Therefore, his outfit was mostly bone white, with the other two as accents. The Deathly Hallows symbol at his throat, which kept the robes secured, was of brushed platinum inlaid with bone (of what he did not wish to know, but at a guess he would think from a thestral).
Tom, on the other hand, had a base outfit of silver, with accents of black and green.
Harry thought the whole thing was just overblown, but never voiced it. He much preferred trousers and shirt covered by an open robe, more like Snape had worn while teaching, just minus the buttoned frock coat underneath. (And even then he was content to do without the robes if no one was around to notice otherwise. Seriously, who wanted to catch on fire because their robes fluttered too close to an open flame?)
The two elves were pleased that everything fit properly, after just a few tweaks, and packed the outfits away again before leaving.
"How about we plan out some greenhouses," he said. "No point in purchasing more elves if we've no work for them yet. If we have everything planned, though, then after the bonding we can set up a household account, buy elves to cover all that, and get things started. Also, we need the proxy paperwork."
"You have decided, then."
"I decided back then, but yes, I've decided. I want that in place before you storm the Wizengamot looking to make waves and changes."
"How about I go fetch the paperwork, then we can go over that and plans for the greenhouses."
He gave Tom a kiss and nodded. "I'll be in the library," he said, then headed off. He had a lot of sketching to do, once he had his hands on a copy of the property map. With any luck, he could arrange to purchase more land, but what he had inherited was already quite a lot. Greenhouses meant he would have plants producing year round, which was a plus.
Harry took over the large table in the library and created a copy of the map. The tents would be placed in front of the house, whereas the greenhouses could go behind it, beyond the pleasure gardens already there.
As for potential animals… He got some parchment from the supply kept on the table, along with his fountain pen, then began to rough out a letter to Newton Scamander, asking about what creatures the man could recommend that could be harvested from without causing harm. Nothing may ever come of the inquiry (certainly not as things pertained to Hagrid), but there was no harm in asking.
Tom strode in as he was looking over the draft, and took a seat next to him, but only after nosily reading over his shoulder to see what he was working on.
"I was thinking back here," he said, pointing with the tip of a quill. "And I need to hit the muggle world again for pencils and rubbers. It's ridiculous I can't mark up this map in a non-permanent way."
"I suppose," Tom said. "You do have a point. It's not as if we were trusted with ink in the orphanage."
"Charcoal sticks or chalk?"
Tom nodded. "Essentially. Chalk and slates, for what little time the caretakers spent trying to teach children to write."
He wrinkled his nose. That must have been a bitch of a transition, going from that to being expected to write with a quill. It was a wonder Tom's handwriting was as good as it was. It was certainly better than his own when using a damn feather.
"Food, ingredients, or both?"
"I think both, though we're going to have to make deals with apothecaries, or open one of our own. But that assumes we could find something trustworthy to run the place. I suppose the same could be said for excess from the food plants."
"I will check to see what is available for purchase in the alley. With any luck we could run Mulpepper's or Slug & Jiggers out of business. At the very least we could check pricing in both places to see what we could expect to make selling to them if we go that route."
"I'd say purchase anything we can get our hands on. We can always rent them out. Same with Horizont Alley."
"And not Knockturn?" Tom asked.
"Not yet? I mean, we could. We could transition it more to grey. But that wouldn't be much help to the people who inhabit the place, and I'm not looking to get so closely involved with so many. I'd rather push for reforms in a broader sense, such that people can actually be employed without having to personally hire them all. Property is wealth, assuming we can find people to rent, back people with decent ideas and take a cut."
"How much are you willing to invest?"
He frowned. "Right now? A hundred thousand. I'd rather buy up what's available, and then find people to sell what we're producing. Then find people with good ideas we can back, one at a time. And if things are going well, then I'd be thinking about the Isle of Man. I wonder if we can get some kind of woven material like netting that'd let sunlight and precipitation through to lace through the tops of forests so that when they do have those satellites up in orbit they'd not be able to get pictures of any magical creatures."
Tom blinked at him and ran his fingers down the side of Harry's face. "I begin to worry about your stress level, my dear."
"Uh…"
"How many greenhouses to start? And as for property, I will check that this afternoon or tomorrow."
As he explained his plans for the greenhouses (a minimum of five each for food and ingredients) he wondered if he would ever figure out what he felt for Tom. He wondered if it was even possible for him to feel romantic love. Or was it that he was fooling himself? It had never been particularly safe to care, with the odd exception. Everyone wanted something, again with the odd exception.
He was going to marry Tom, bond with him, bear children for their family.
"How many levels?"
Harry blinked at the question. "Huh. If we could make everything… Well, like glass, but not so fragile. Even the floors. If we could manage that we could have multiple floors, and all would get the sunlight necessary. At least, for those plants which require sun. Either that or we need an enchantment for each floor which would produce sunlight proper for each type of plant, or class. Whatever. You get what I mean?"
"Yes. We could create multi-storey greenhouses, and use the top floor of each to start, and work out the details for the others. That way we are not delaying entirely. And if we dig down, we could have rooms for things which require little light."
"Multiple layers of warding?"
Tom nodded. "Agreed. It is not enough to simply have locks on the doors. I suggest we inlay the ground itself with runes as anchors for wards. Dig down to the bedrock. Whatever isn't used for low-light plants can be for storage."
He liked that idea, and he was all for efficiency. "Then let's work out a list of what we want to grow, so we can determine the size of these greenhouses. No point in digging until we have that."
"This being Peverell Manor," Tom said, "I must wonder what we'll find in the earth."
Harry shook his head. "If they had any sense they'd have all chosen to be cremated. Given that there are people capable of creating inferi, I don't understand why anyone would choose to be buried whole."
"And this is getting entirely too morbid," Tom said, leaning in to kiss him. "Change of subject, now."