Notes: Here's a bit of family fluff… of a sort. Tneha, you said after chapter 4 that you wanted to see Tom acting "weirdly tender." Here you are, and with a sizable helping of creepiness too. :D
Chapter Six: A Bedtime Story
Hermione had long ago ceased to remind herself of the inherent bias that parents had in favor of their own children's attributes. She had given that up: Madeline really was a remarkable child. She had had her magical breakthrough six months ago, changing the color of her favorite doll's hair to black to look like her own. Barely three years old, she was still almost reading. She had been memorizing books and stories for about a year, and she was right on the verge of making the leap.
She had also turned out to be a Parselmouth. Hermione was not entirely surprised by that; the trait did seem to be highly dominant, and the only reason it had not spread beyond the Gaunts in the past was likely their own history of cousin marriage. But it was still startling to see her "perfect" little daughter hissing at the grass snakes that Tom summoned from the yard once he learned of her ability. She had no problem with Parseltongue; it wasn't that, but there was something very isolating about not having the trait herself. They had only known about it for a couple of months, but even in that period of time, the little girl had been spending much more time with her father and his "pet" snakes, and less with Hermione and her cat.
Perhaps it was just novelty, Hermione supposed. Eventually it would become routine and unexceptional, and after all, how interesting could snake conversation really be? It probably was just novelty.
Tom's own behavior was far less likely to be a short-term phenomenon. She had known that he would be intensely possessive of their children, and he had been ever since Madeline was born. Nothing about their own relationship had changed, but since he learned that his daughter had one of his most prized traits, Hermione had almost never had a moment alone with her. He had. He had been devoted ever since her birth, but they had really bonded over this shared quality lately. It was hard for her to object too much to it, because it was so nice to see him caring about an additional person, but it did hurt on some level. They did not yet hold private conversations in that language, at least not in front of Hermione, but she had a dark feeling that it would happen eventually.
Hermione was now expecting their second child, and although she would never admit it to him, she hoped this one would not "speak it."
She stared at the fire in the family sitting room and reached over to pet the cat, who considerately did not park himself on her lap, but instead sat on the cushion next to her. Sable gave a comforting purr. Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see Tom watching carefully as Madeline played.
The little girl yawned and flopped her toys on the floor.
"That looks like bedtime to me," Tom remarked at once, getting up from his chair.
Surprisingly, Madeline did not put up a fight. "Could I have a story?" she pleaded.
"Of course," Hermione said.
The child looked from one parent to the next, contemplating which one she would rather have read to her. It was a difficult choice. Mum knew far more stories than Daddy, but Daddy's stories made her blood curdle in a really nice way.
"What are you going to read me?" she demanded of Hermione.
Trying to suppress her amusement at her child's assertive, demanding nature—rather like both her parents, Hermione had to admit—she smiled. "I had thought about reading from a book with all sorts of talking animals—including a snake. And a little boy who lives with them."
She frowned adorably. "What about you, Daddy?"
For a moment, Tom looked deeply insecure. Hermione knew why. Despite being raised by Muggles, he had never learned much of their folklore and cultural heritage as a child. The orphanage had not had the funds to spare on "frivolous" literature. He had been almost too old to be seen at Hogwarts reading wizarding children's books, too. What he knew, from both worlds, he had picked up later.
"I thought I might tell you your favorite story, about the warlock and his heart," he said.
Madeline's features twisted. "That's not my favorite story anymore! It's boring now."
Tom considered for a moment. "Well," he said, "I could tell you about a different wizard. You've never heard that story before."
Madeline's grey eyes lit up. "Would you read it to me, Daddy?"
Hermione tried to control her disappointment. She would get the chance later, she told herself. This was temporary. And, she had to admit, her curiosity was piqued. She really had no idea what story Tom was referring to.
He picked her up and carried her to her bedroom, Hermione trailing behind. Once she was settled in her bed, he sat down on the chair next to it. Hermione stood in the shadows, watching. She suddenly realized that he did not have a book in hand.
Madeline noticed this as well. "Where's the book, Daddy?"
"This story isn't in a book," Tom said, smiling, "though I could write it down if you like it."
Did he compose it himself? Hermione thought. That was… unexpected. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth at the idea.
"The story that you know so well is 'The Warlock's Hairy Heart,'" Tom said. "This story is called 'The Wizard's Hidden Heart.' Although its name is similar, the story is different."
Madeline smiled. Hermione suddenly had a spark of misgiving.
"There was once a wizard. He was very powerful, and so he had many enemies who were jealous of him. He was a Dark wizard," he added, prompting his daughter's eyes to widen. "And these enemies were very bad people. They wanted to kill him and his wife."
Madeline gasped.
"The Dark wizard had a huge library of books, and he read through them to find ways to protect himself and his wife, and keep his enemies from succeeding. Eventually he found a book that talked about a spell that would let him hide his own heart in a box. You see, if his heart was not in his body, he couldn't be killed."
Oh, Tom, really? Hermione thought with dismay. She had a bad feeling that she knew where this was going….
"The wizard considered the plan. He talked to a… friend of his about the idea. The friend didn't think he should do it. Then one day an old man with a beard, who had heard of the plan, came up to the wizard. The old man told him that if he took out all of his heart, he wouldn't be able to love his wife anymore and wouldn't even care if his enemies killed her. He was thinking of the warlock in the other story, you see."
That was obviously Dumbledore, and that's not how… so maybe this is just a story after all, Hermione thought.
"Was it true?" Madeline asked in a small voice, her eyes wide.
"You'll find out," Tom said with a wink. He continued the story. "The wizard's wife was worried when she heard this from the old man. She urged him not to do it. But the Dark wizard knew that his enemies would win if he didn't do something, so he put his mind to the task. He decided to take out only part of his heart instead of the whole thing." He leaned in conspiratorially, trying hard not to smirk at the child—our innocent little girl, Hermione thought with a resurgence of irritation. "Having even just a piece of his heart outside his body would make it impossible for the wizard's enemies to kill him… as long as they didn't find the piece of heart and kill it first."
Hermione could hardly stand hearing him tell this "story" to Madeline, but at this point she had to hear how it would end—even though she was sure she already did. The manipulative son of a—
"The wizard performed the spell to take out part of his heart, and he put it in a magical box. He quickly realized that his plan had worked: His feelings for his wife did not change at all."
"So the warlock in the other story should have done that instead!" Madeline exclaimed. In the shadows, Hermione grimaced.
"Exactly," Tom said. "The wizard's wife was angry with him for taking the risk, but she decided it was all right when he still cared for her just as much as he had before."
He gave Hermione an insolent wink that Madeline did not notice. She wanted to storm into the room and slap him.
"Their house was very safe, but one night the wizard and witch had to stay with other people, and these people had not made their house as safe. One of their enemies broke into his room."
"Did he—" Madeline began to ask in an awed tone.
"The other man was a wizard, but he carried a Muggle knife with him. He wanted to kill the wizard's wife with it instead of with magic. The Dark wizard realized that there was an intruder, so he rolled in bed and covered his wife's body with his own. In the dark, the enemy could not tell the difference. He raised the knife—"
Madeline held her breath.
"—and stabbed the Dark wizard in his bed, over and over."
"Oh, no," Madeline whispered. "Did it work? The heart box?"
Oh, good God, Hermione thought. That sounded too damned similar, and it was just wrong to hear from their child. Tom, you are going to hear about this from me later.
"It did," Tom assured her grandly. "The wizard was not killed. The enemy then realized that he had stabbed the Dark wizard instead of his wife. He believed that the Dark wizard had just died in vain and he would kill the wizard's wife anyway, so he pushed the Dark wizard away and raised his knife once more."
Madeline held her breath again.
"However… the Dark wizard had only pretended to be dead. He sat upright—and that shocked the enemy, I assure you. The enemy stopped in his tracks, so surprised to see the Dark wizard alive that he couldn't even think of what to do next. The Dark wizard raised his own wand and pointed it at his enemy—and killed him with magic rather than with any Muggle weapon."
Madeline giggled. "Serves him right."
"Exactly so," Tom agreed. "The Dark wizard's wife then sat upright and turned to him. 'I'm glad we were prepared,' she told him. 'That was very clever.'"
Hermione almost strode into the room then and there, but she managed to restrain herself.
"When word got around to the rest of the Dark wizard's enemies that he could not be killed, they decided to stop trying to. Some of them fled. Others switched sides and offered their support to the witch and wizard. They accepted it—though naturally, they never entirely trusted those people. And nobody ever learned about the… heart box," he said, biting his lip hard to avoid smirking, "except the Dark wizard's wife. The end."
"I like that story," Madeline declared in satisfaction as he leaned down to give her a quick peck on her forehead. "That Dark wizard was much smarter than the warlock. Please write it down, Daddy."
"Certainly," he said. "I'll make a little book just for you, and I might even draw some pictures for you."
"Thank you, Daddy!"
He smiled fondly at her. "Good night."
As soon as he closed the door to her room, Hermione whirled on him in the hall, pushing him against the wall. She glared at him.
"Not a word," he said. The smirk that he had tried to hide from Madeline now adorned his face.
"You're trying to… to corrupt her, to make her think like you!"
"It was just a children's story."
"Oh, sure it was!"
"Children don't have to have moral instruction in everything they read," Tom said with a scoff. "In fact, most of them don't even want that. They want to be entertained. They want their imaginations to be piqued."
"That's not the point!"
"No, I think that's exactly the point," he said. "She wanted a bloodcurdling tale, and unlike the original, that one didn't moralize at her. She's only three, but she's smart, and she could tell when a story did that. I think that's why she was tired of the original. Sometimes people just like a well-told story, even one that lets characters win without being pure, shining white."
Hermione fell silent. That was true enough. As a child herself, Hermione had not minded fables and moral tales, but she had eventually come to realize that it was because she had not cultivated her imagination as freely as she might have. As she had grown up, she had come to see that life usually didn't turn out like a fable, and the kind of literature she had come to appreciate was closer now to pure storytelling.
"All right," she said. "You have a point with that. But don't think I don't know what that 'story' actually was. You could hardly keep the smirk off your face. It wasn't merely something you imagined by yourself to entertain her."
He shrugged. "She's three."
"For now."
He placed his arm around her waist. "Come now, Hermione. I told a new story to our child, which she liked. If you insist on seeing it as more than that, then take comfort in knowing that there will be all sorts of people—from yourself to the crooked-nosed future Headmaster—who will have the opportunity to shape her views. I'm merely offering another perspective."
Hermione wanted to be exasperated with him, but the annoyance from a few minutes ago was melting rapidly. Even though she knew that he was absolutely trying to prime Madeline to be tolerant of the Dark Arts, his points about stories were valid ones.
She walked with him to their bedroom, her right hand involuntarily settling on the slight bump that was already apparent. She couldn't, ultimately, control what her children thought or did. Neither could he. Madeline—and this child who was not yet born—would have to decide that for themselves.