Notes: Thanks so much for reading! There is a lot happening in this chapter, and it's rather long, but there were quite a number of issues that I wanted to touch upon here. Most of the things that seem "flagged" in this chapter are indeed important.
I didn't put a note about this in part I, but to anyone who didn't know, silphium was a real plant that went extinct in ancient times. It grew along the Mediterranean coast and was thought to have been a natural contraceptive/abortifacient.
Chapter Thirteen: Wizarding Renaissance, Part II: Shady Maneuvers
Abraxas Malfoy, as a member of Wizengamot, had filed a petition to challenge the legality of Tom's silphium reclassification. Others on the Wizengamot, and in politics in general, had speculated about why he had done it; whether they liked it or not, most people agreed that the Minister could regulate a plant that had medical effects. Still, the Chief Warlock had convened a panel of seven magical law experts to examine Tom's proposal from a legal perspective. If it declared the policy permissible, that was the end of the petition. If the panel declared the policy illegal, it would be instantly blocked. If the panel concluded that the challenge should go before the entire body to be heard, that would happen. In the meantime, the Wizengamot would hold a public forum, and anyone could attend.
Hermione was rather disgusted with the way this was going. Instead of being a sober forum for discussion and debate, this seemed to be a way for anyone on the Wizengamot with an opinion to get on a soapbox. The Wizengamot functioned as a court of law and a parliamentary body, which Hermione found to be a very knotty issue. Currently it was in parliament mode, which meant a rambunctious forum. At the moment, Malfoy himself was determined to be heard.
"The Chair recognizes the Honorable Abraxas Malfoy," intoned the Chief Warlock in his gravelly voice.
Malfoy stood up, his bottle-green robes tumbling down his lean frame. "I have a serious objection to the Minister's law, and I speak on behalf of many of our most prominent and ancient families in this. Many of the old families have chosen to be small. The Malfoys, for example, have only one child, unless the firstborn is a daughter."
Hermione scowled involuntarily at that. Was everyone in this era some type of sexist?
"It is a tradition of our family," Abraxas continued. "Malfoy sons do their duty, because they know there is no one else who can do it in their place. Family peace is kept, and the line is continued, because there is no squabbling among brothers about who should get what or who has what responsibility. The Minister's policy would throw some of our pureblood families into chaos." Abraxas smirked and sat down.
Tom gazed at the Chief Warlock pointedly. "The Chair recognizes the esteemed Minister for Magic," the old man said at once.
Tom stood up and glared at Malfoy with blistering contempt. "Mr. Malfoy, some pureblood families manage to survive having multiple children. Perhaps the problem you speak of arises not because of the existence of siblings, but because the family does not promote good relationships among them—and tries to control their futures in ways that they find undesirable."
Malfoy glared at Tom across the courtroom, extremely put out at the insult. Tom gazed back impassively. Caspar Crouch, who was seated behind Malfoy, had observed the exchange with shrewd interest, which neither Tom nor Hermione missed.
Septimus Weasley motioned to be recognized. After the Chief Warlock called on him, he stood up, adjusted his glasses, and turned around to face the Wizengamot. "My friends… rather than bickering amongst ourselves about trade in a potions ingredient, we should consider an alternative answer to our coming population problem." He gave a curt nod of acknowledgment to Tom, apparently admitting that he accepted Tom's population analysis.
Hermione sat up at once, curious as to what Weasley had to say.
"My colleagues and I have produced a solution that involves no use of force, merely incentive. Under our proposal, marriages between magical persons and Muggles—which is to say, people entirely outside the wizarding world—would receive an annual stipend of a thousand Galleons for the duration of the marriage." He turned to the people seated nearest him and smiled, ignoring the murmurs of disapproval from much of the rest of the body.
"Marriages between magical persons and Squibs—so designated under current policy—would be treated neutrally. Future marriages between witches and wizards, however, would be assessed an annual penalty, as would singleness. I propose this," he said with a smile, "as a wizard who is happily married to a witch, but I recognize that we must do as we have done in the past, and marry Muggles, if we are to survive. It is true that some wizard-Muggle marriages would produce Squib children, but as you have so often said, Minister, Squibs can have magical offspring." Weasley smiled again and sat down.
Hermione was, if anything, even more appalled. What was wrong with people? Why were they all so determined to involve the government with personal decisions?
The Nationalist faction and its allies burst into a storm of angry objection. This continued for several moments until Tom stood up, his black and silver robes falling silkily down his chest, and glared at the entire Wizengamot. It was a far more effective call for silence than the old Chief Warlock thumping his gavel and wheezing for order.
"Weasley," Tom said, disdain practically dripping from his lips, "that plan is an overreach. My proposal does not tell anyone whom to marry, just that if they do marry—or conduct themselves as if they are married—then they have a responsibility to procreate if possible. I really don't think that is unreasonable. Furthermore," he sneered, "I see nothing in your plan that actually encourages births. You would take money away from certain couples, the very ones most likely to have all magical children. What do you think that would do to their birth rate? I'm going to help magical families, not punish them. Your plan doesn't do that. It only endangers wizarding security."
"Minister—" Weasley began to object.
"I am not finished," Tom said smoothly. "It wouldn't even be good family policy. My parents were a witch and a Muggle, Weasley. For years I believed that my father was dead, but in my seventh year of school, Barnabas Cuffe of the Daily Prophet informed me that he had only been dead for about a year and a half. From what I can deduce, he deserted my mother before I was born. He abandoned his wife and child and lived with his Muggle family for the rest of his life." Tom glared at Weasley.
Hermione had to admire the fact that he had implied complete innocence but had not actually told a lie.
"And that's not uncommon. Squib siblings are one thing, but it is not a good idea for us to marry Muggles who know nothing of our world. The Muggle spouse cannot even be told about magic until after the wedding, you know—the point at which they become 'family.' So the magical partner either lies to their intended or breaks the law and risks our security. Individual marriages may work out, but in general they are much more likely to end in estrangement or divorce because of that lie. I will not put an 'incentive' for that in our laws. The real problem is that we are not having enough children. Your family is a bit of an exception, historically"—he smirked faintly—"but consider how many people you know who are only children, or who have had only one child. That is the issue, and my proposal is the only one to address it head-on." He sat down in an angry flourish.
With that, the time allotted for the public hearing was up. The Chief Warlock dismissed the chamber. Hermione avoided the bustle of journalists and public observers shuffling out the door, remaining behind with the other members of the Wizengamot and the Ministry bureaucrats currying favor.
Malfoy and his core group of blood purists formed a cluster. Septimus Weasley and his allies formed another. Crouch wavered between the two before apparently urging the Weasley group to move closer to the Malfoy one. At least, that was what happened; Hermione could not hear what he said to them.
Tom gathered his group into a huddle. "No meeting today," he said abruptly. "I don't want to plan anything until the review is in." He turned to Hermione and gave her a brief hug.
She returned it, feeling the pleasantly warm and firm grip of his arms. A lump formed in her chest at the sight of his face. For the first time in a long while, he looked embattled.
Do I really want to oppose him if it means joining up with the likes of Weasley—or even Malfoy? she thought. All Malfoy cares about are pureblood Malfoy sons, and Weasley is just like Tom about involving the Ministry in private matters. He'd penalize people for being single or marrying a witch or wizard. And Tom is right about mixed marriages mostly being unhappy; the same thing is going to happen to Snape's parents. Still… does nobody see this my way?
A week later.
The Wizengamot review was ready, and it was ready surprisingly quickly. That could mean only one thing. Hermione opened the document, which was divided into two parts: the majority opinion and the dissent. She turned to the first.
.
Majority Opinion of the Legal Counsel of the High Wizengamot Concerning Reclassification of the Silphium Plant as a Non-Tradeable Substance.
Written by the Honorable Cassia Brightmore and joined by the Honorable D. Farriman, P. Howell, and I. Scrimgeour
.
Hermione opened this part of the document and began to read it. As she had expected, the panel had approved the policy. There was little doubt about the outcome; the Minister had very broad authority to dictate trade of imported materials that could affect the functioning of bodily systems. The majority group affirmed this.
What she had not expected was the glowing, almost propagandistic tone of the opinion. Instead of merely declaring the policy to be lawful, these four members of the panel echoed many of Tom's own arguments in favor of enacting it. When the Chief Warlock convened a legal panel, its composition could vary, so that—in theory—no one could exert pressure in advance or buy off the panel. Evidently Tom had rather a lot of supporters on the Wizengamot.
Hermione turned to the shorter dissent—and then discovered that it was not properly a dissent at all. Written by Valerian Fawley, an Isolationist, and joined by two radical Reformists, this document was designated a "concurring opinion." These members of the Wizengamot agreed with the majority position that the reclassification was legal and that the Minister had acceptable cause to restrict silphium, but—
.
"We do not take a position about whether this proposal is good public policy."
.
Hermione understood at once. Malfoy had not expected his challenge to overturn the law. Instead, it was an exercise to determine how much political support it had in the Wizengamot. Tom would understand that too, she realized. What she could not figure out was what the opponents of the law intended to do next. The panel had unanimously declared it a legal measure; it would not have a formal challenge in the full court now. Tom's opponents must have some sort of strategy in mind, though; they meant to exert pressure on him in some way. She would have to find out how.
Tom was irritable that evening. He downed his after-dinner drinks ferociously, staring into space.
Hermione finally spoke up. "What is the matter?"
He shifted his gaze to her without moving any other muscle. "You didn't read the Wizengamot opinion?"
"I did read it, and I don't see why its contents should annoy you at all. You got your way."
He glowered. "It was closer than I would have liked—those three obviously hate the idea—and if that mirrors the court as a whole, I have reason to be concerned. There's something else, too. I've been observing it for a while, but I learned today—and this opinion supports it—the bloody radical Reformists have decided to team up with the radical blood purists because they think that's a less offensive option than supporting me, the supremacist," he sneered.
Hermione glanced at the drink and frowned. How many had he knocked back? She had not been counting, but he sounded tipsy.
She decided not to comment on it. "What do you think they could do, though?"
"It's bloody obvious what they could do. They're going to pick someone to challenge me."
Hermione's eyes widened. "But you became Minister less than a year ago!"
"These people don't think I should have become Minister at all. They think I'm too young. The radicals in the Reformist faction really loathe me. They hate that anyone dared to 'steal away' any of their precious Muggle-born and half-blood supporters. I've single-handedly done more for the wizarding world over the past ten years than their faction has done in its entire wretched existence, yet they presume to—ugh. I've had too much." He pushed the glass away and rested his head on the table.
Hermione got him a glass of water, which she placed in front of him. He grunted in thanks and began to drink it silently. She thought about what he had just said. A drunken rant or a real danger? she wondered. He has a tendency to be paranoid, but the extreme elements of both old factions have been aligning lately. I've noticed it myself. If they propose someone to challenge him, I'd really rather not have to sign up for that. I couldn't even do it publicly, but I'd prefer that it not come to that at all.
"Maybe you should moderate this stance," she suggested.
He stared at her with watery eyes. "Hermione, that would look weak and they would pounce. They don't just oppose me; they hate me. The radical Isolationists think I'm unqualified for my position because I'm a half-blood, and they think I'm a blood-traitor for bringing in all those Squibs. The radical Reformists like Muggles more than they like their own kind, so anything that is 'pro-wizard' must be 'anti-Muggle' to their pathetic little minds. These people truly despise me, and if I gave either of them anything, it would never be enough. All it would do is make my policies less effective. Their views could doom the wizarding world, and I won't have it."
Hermione let the conversation subside into silence and digested what she had just heard. Tom thought that the very future of their people depended on him. It was good that he had introduced so many new ideas into the political discourse, but that sort of thinking could not be a good thing.
"Where are the children?" Tom suddenly asked.
"Playing in the family room, as they usually do after dinner," Hermione said. "Tom, do you need more water?"
He got up and shoved his chair under the table. "I'm going to see them. I haven't seen enough of them lately… and neither have you. Come upstairs."
Hermione gaped at him as he left the room. He had definitely had too much, and although she did not like being ordered about, she wasn't going to refuse to spend time with her own children—nor was she going to let them see their father like this. She opened the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of Sobering Potion, and poured a dose of it into his glass.
"Take this," she said as she met him on the stairs. He took the glass and downed it.
"Good idea," he grunted as the tension and annoyance melted from his face.
The children had their toys out, which they were making move around the room. Whatever they had been playing, they stopped it as soon as their parents entered the sitting room. Madeline looked guilty, but Hermione could see no evidence of anything broken.
"What have you been up to?" Tom asked her. He had noticed that look too.
She mumbled something. Tom raised his eyebrow at her.
"We went into your study," she muttered.
Tom looked startled, then alarmed. "I hope you didn't touch anything. I've warned you that there are magical things in there that you're not old enough to handle."
"We didn't," the little girl said, her dark eyes wide and honest. Virgil looked down at the rug, clearly scared.
There was a cabinet in his personal study that was full of interesting magical artifacts, many Dark, but it was warded. Hermione knew what he was worried about. She knew what else he kept in the room, what book sat innocently on his desk during the day, and thinking about that produced a resurgence of irritation with him. If he must have the bloody thing, he could at least lock the door.
"I'm glad you told me, but don't go in there again," he said. "It isn't safe for children." He sat on a sofa and patted the cushions on each side of him. The children scrambled, eager for their father's storytime. He seemed to relax a bit with them nearby.
Hermione was glad that he didn't want to punish them. They obviously had just wanted to do something "forbidden" and didn't do any actual harm, and in any case, he was the one who had the thing in the first place and had left the study accessible to them with it in plain sight on his desk. Perhaps he realized that—well, the latter, at least.
As he read to them, Hermione thought again about his worry that someone would challenge his leadership as Minister. She did not want him to lose his seat, but perhaps he was too used to having everything political go his way. The family man before her was almost like a different person, compared to the politician. He was tender with the children and demonstrative with her. But politically, it was another story. He had risen to fame by deceptively "defeating" Gellert Grindelwald and had bookended his rise to the top with the secret release of the same Dark wizard. He had swept aside people who had been in his way—the elder Blacks, the Tufts, the Lestranges, Septimus Weasley—with the ease of a master chess player taking a hapless opponent's queen off the board. He ran—no, ruled—his Nationalists with virtually no dissent. He was so used to getting what he wanted that he thought it was weak to compromise.
Perhaps what he needs is a good challenge, she thought. Not a loss, but a challenge. Perhaps he'll realize then that he has to back down sometimes.
That night, as she lay sprawled across him, their chests rising and sinking in tandem but all the sounds inaudible from the outside by the spells on the heavy draperies, she wondered if she really wanted to go through with a challenge.
She quickly dismissed that doubt. Being intimate with him was normal and expected. Caring about him, being attracted to him, and having a good marital and family life didn't mean that she had to go along with everything he did professionally. After all, she had committed years ago to pulling him back if he went too far, and not only for the wizarding world, but for his sake too.
The rumor on the Wizengamot was that Caspar Crouch was going to challenge the Minister. He would never admit to it openly—whenever someone outside his own clique asked him, he would smile suavely and claim that he was merely "exploring his options"—but everybody knew. He just wasn't going to call for a no-confidence vote unless he knew he had enough supporters on the Wizengamot to win that and become the replacement. It was a shadow campaign.
Curiously, he seemed to be angling for the blood-purist Isolationists more than the Weasley cohort. The radical Reformists were not actually structured enough to have a leader, but Weasley was the person Hermione recognized best of that group, and he had an air of figuratively holding his nose whenever he was around Crouch. Meanwhile, Crouch was constantly huddled with Abraxas Malfoy, who it appeared was the de facto leader of the Isolationist radicals. That surprised Hermione, who had pegged Crouch as one who at least paid lip service to tolerance. His son Barty would go on to be quite ruthless in his job, but Hermione had never heard that he had the slightest interest in blood purity politics. That didn't necessarily indicate that his father thought the same, but families did seem to strongly influence their children's political views in the wizarding world. Of course, she reminded herself, with there being a third political faction now, a lot of things must have changed.
Hermione remembered suddenly that in the alternate timeline, Barty Crouch would cut a deal with Abraxas to keep Lucius Malfoy out of Azkaban despite the fact that the younger Crouch had to know he was guilty. Perhaps there was a long-standing association between the two families after all. Of course, they were both the purest of the pureblood, so it was probable.
If radical Isolationists had been the only supporters of this shadow challenge, Hermione would have had a very difficult time doing what she finally decided to do. However, Septimus Weasley and his crowd were also—tentatively—offering their support to Crouch behind the scenes. Hermione swiped some Polyjuice Potion from her research division one day, disguised herself as a Muggle woman she had passed by chance on a walk, and actually went into Merlin and Arthur's, which was the unofficial Reformist tavern much in the same way that the Serpents' Chalice was the Nationalist one. There she listened to what the regulars in the common room had to say. It wasn't the same as gathering intelligence from insiders and top officials, but it was something.
A large painting purportedly of a crowned, handsome King Arthur and his wizened old advisor hung above the bar. A sinister-faced Morgana le Fay lurked in the background, trying to harm the noble Muggle king, but Merlin was enchanted to keep an eye on her. The painting was just about as subtle as the Nationalist Ouroboros in its symbolism, which was to say, not in the least. At the moment, Hermione found the fact that a witch was placed in the villain's role to be rather distasteful, but she tried not to think too much about it. She was here for intelligence gathering, not art criticism. She ordered an ale and tried to look as if she belonged.
"He's not really trying to hide his true colors anymore, is he?" a stubble-bearded young wizard with a foaming tankard shouted to the wizard next to him.
"A supremacist," the other one agreed. "I knew it as soon as he took the Aurors."
"I knew when he reversed the underage sorcery ban, the last thing protecting Muggle-born families."
"And now he says we got to out-breed the Muggles or they'll overrun us." He spat derisively. "Sounds like you-know-who, it does."
Hermione almost choked on her drink. They meant Grindelwald, of course, but hearing that particular phrase used in conjunction with Tom….
The older wizard lowered his voice. "I wonder if he really means to capture you-know-who again. He was a hero, and I respect that, but he isn't a bright-eyed idealistic kid anymore. He hasn't said a word about sending a mission to get him."
The younger, stubbly one frowned. "Not so loud with that kind of talk." He briefly gave a pointed look in Hermione's direction.
"Oh, don't worry about me," she spoke up at once. "We're all friends inside these walls."
The younger wizard visibly relaxed. "So what do you think about Grindelwald?" he asked her.
Hermione had not expected to hear this. The Reformist radicals were apparently obsessed with the last war and the great "supremacist" villain of their time. She chose her words carefully.
"Well," she said, "it's probably difficult to do anything in Eastern Europe now, since all the magical governments are underground."
"And that's another thing," the young wizard said, quaffing his ale. "Why? The Muggles decide to rule themselves, overthrow their aristocrat tyrants, and then all the wizards think they've got to sever contact with the heads of government. I think Grindelwald would find the east ripe for him, ripe indeed."
Hermione was astonished at this degree of naïveté. Russian and eastern wizards were in hiding to avoid being identified and exploited by paranoid, nuclear-armed Soviet states. It had nothing to do with Muggle "self-rule," which wasn't even how those governments worked.
She knew she couldn't say that to this crowd, though. "It probably would be," she said lamely. "I expect that's why he went there. But it's still a difficult problem."
"Crouch would get him," the older wizard declared.
The younger one agreed instantly. "He would. I wouldn't even mind if he had the Aurors."
"I've heard…." Hermione hesitated. "I've heard that Crouch might mount a challenge."
The older wizard nodded sagely. "I hope he does. Crouch is not my first choice… I mean, he's in with Malfoy… but—"
"He needs Malfoy," the younger one said. "It's strategic. All the 'moderates' are lining up with bloody Riddle. Reformists in name only, they are." His face twisted into an ugly snarl. "We ought to tell the bastards to go on and wear that damned sign, the snake and wand, and take our faction back."
Hermione had heard enough. She paid for her drink, gave the wizards a false smile, and left, thinking about what she had heard.
Crouch absolutely could not win, she decided. Malfoy's people did not need to gain any more influence, but neither did people like that. Crouch himself might be reasonable—Hermione's own admittedly limited experience with him suggested that he wasn't a radical of either stripe—but if he owed his political ascent to radicals, his agency would be limited.
For a moment she reconsidered her plans. Tom's silphium proposal was offensive to her, certainly, but it didn't seem that the base Reformists' tentative support of Crouch was based primarily on that. They really did seem to dislike Tom personally, just as he thought. The Renaissance Plan was a secondary matter, and if the wizards she had just met were representative of the common hardline Reformist on the street, their opposition was based on the idea that wizards shouldn't "out-breed Muggles"—whatever that meant—rather than respect for witches' bodily autonomy.
Maybe the answer was to continue trying to work on Tom, Hermione thought. Maybe she shouldn't do what she was planning to do.
She passed by a stand of Daily Prophet copies. The lead headline blared at her in large print, catching her eye: "Headmaster Dumbledore: 'A Pox on All Your Houses!'"
Well, that was too interesting to pass up. She fished in her pocket for coins and bought a copy of the newspaper, which she instantly started to read.
As she had suspected, Dumbledore had not actually said anything of the sort, though he might as well have. He had written a long, full-page editorial, and this was apparently a slow news day, since this made the top headline.
.
Wizarding politics have lately taken a turn for the worse. The Minister for Magic himself issues personal barbs at members of the Wizengamot in a public debate forum, inexplicably taking a swipe at Septimus Weasley for the size of his family—while advocating a controversial new policy for large families—but he is far from the worst offender of late, and it is fair to suggest that this comment may have been a defensive response.
As Headmaster of Hogwarts, I have noticed a disturbing trend even among some of our students. The Minister is attacked for his blood status, and a vulgar slur unfit for print is used against his wife in private. Deputy Headmaster Horace Slughorn and I attempt to quell this sort of uncouth talk, but children follow the example of their elders, most particularly those in their families. The Minister's own political faction responds to these crude attacks with the equally offensive attack of "blood-traitor" levelled against any who oppose their plans, appropriating the traditionally blood-purist term for their own "inclusively" wizard-nationalistic use. Frankly, the phrase shouldn't be used at all. This is not the standard by which we should conduct our political discourse.
Meanwhile, those who purport to stand for tolerance and openness to all human beings are in the midst of a purge of their own ranks. Any who attempt to work with the Minister are shunned and shamed. There are whispers of conspiracy theories concerning Gellert Grindelwald and Wizarding Supremacism. One may certainly disagree with the Minister's agenda, but it is important to differentiate between his plans, which manifestly respect Wizarding Secrecy, and the calls for open wizard rule of Muggles around the globe that Grindelwald advocated. Overheated, exaggerated rhetoric benefits no one.
The Minister's "Renaissance Plan" is troubling, because it applies force instead of persuasion. But this is a point I have seen few others making in their urge to toot their own horns and advance their own agendas….
.
Hermione read the rest of the piece. Dumbledore was evidently disgusted with everyone. He applauded the existence of a third legitimate political option, but he stated that the initial promise was fading as the political system accepted it and it lost its novelty—and as the Minister "overreached," giving his opponents an opening to launch their ugliest attacks.
Something has to change, she thought. The misgivings that she had developed in the Reformist pub evaporated. Something needed to give, and it needed to start with Tom. He was the Minister. He would need to set the example of consideration and backing down. The three factions' hotheads that were respectively attacking his and her ancestry, calling people blood-traitors (Hermione recalled hearing that in the audience when Tom announced his new law concerning magic-haters), or doing what she had just heard in the pub—and what Dumbledore evidently had heard too—would not be capable of taking the lead in moderation and calmness. They were partisans, after all. Tom had to be the statesman. But he had to be given a reason to be a statesman first.
I don't want him actually removed, she thought. I won't let that happen. She did not want to do that to him, and besides, Tom would not take defeat lying down. Something would happen to Crouch, and Tom would regain power. And when he did, he would probably do everything he could to make sure he wouldn't lose it again. He needed to be frightened into taking his agenda down a notch, not angered into taking vicious revenge.
The radical Reformists are the ones who aren't sure about Crouch, she mused.
Hermione felt her appearance shifting back. She opened the Daily Prophet wide and hid her face behind the newspaper as it transformed back to her own. Then she rose from the bench and headed to Gringotts.
She left with a new key to a new vault, an incorporation certificate for the newly formed "Principles Committee", and the assurance of the goblins that the identity of the new vault's owner would remain a secret from everyone—as would the transfer of three thousand Galleons from Advance Organization's vault to the new vault.
Wizengamot votes wouldn't be cheap, after all.
This would be outrageously illegal in the Muggle world, but for once in her life, Hermione found herself thankful for the entrenched corruption of the wizarding world.
Hermione felt a bit sorry for the Muggle woman whose hair she used for Polyjuice Potion, the same one as before. This woman lived on the same street that Tom and Hermione's family did, but nobody in the wizarding world would recognize her as their neighbor. She looked quite different from Hermione, with short-cropped blonde hair and an angular, classical face.
Before she started on her list—the people on the Wizengamot who might be amenable to being bribed—she wanted to try something else. The Black family had been curiously silent in the midst of this. She wondered why. Using the name Morgana Rich—why not use the first name of the most famous witch in English history? she reasoned—she set up a private meeting with Orion Black.
"I was surprised to receive your owl," Orion said in a nervous tone, sipping his drink lightly, his eyes trained on Hermione's disguised face.
She hoped he wasn't a Legilimens like his father. Avoiding his direct gaze, she answered in natural tones. "Have you not seen our advertisement in the Daily Prophet?" she asked. Since starting her "committee," she had placed a political advertisement in the newspaper, not naming Tom by name, but calling for "a return to the principles of freedom and personal initiative."
"I have," he said, "but… I have to ask what you hope for with this meeting."
That was inauspicious. Hermione supposed it was understandable for him to distrust her; no one in the wizarding world would recognize her supposed name, and a Black would know that she was not a pureblood, but it still was not a good start.
She decided that blunt honesty was best. "I thought I might propose… brokering a deal to give you a seat on the Wizengamot," she said. She lowered her voice. "I understand that the last one a few years ago did not go your way. I have reason to think there are several members of the body that might be persuaded to vote for you if you threw your support to Caspar Crouch for Minister."
Orion's face paled. "Madam Rich, you're speaking very openly about this, which I have to admire—you were a Gryffindor, I'd bet—and I do know what you're talking about. Malf—that is, I have contacts. But I have no intention of getting involved in that business."
"Are you sure?" she pressed. "You surely have a reason to oppose Riddle."
Orion sipped his drink and scowled. "That's exactly why I'm not going to get involved—well, it's part of the reason. Frankly, the Riddles have a grudge against my family—"
Hermione wanted to protest that for herself, but she knew she could not.
"—and I don't want to be a target of their retaliation again. I understand why they would have a problem with my father, but I didn't do any of it. I was a fourth year in school when all that shite was going on—pardon my language," he added quickly.
"Why do you think there would be retaliation against you?" she asked. "Crouch would be the leader."
"Crouch isn't leading a damned thing. This alliance with the Reformist radicals is as fragile as an Erumpent horn, and it'll blow up in the same manner," Orion said. "I know all about what's going on, Madam Rich, and it is not going to last. When—and it will be when—it falls apart, Riddle is going to be looking for a scapegoat. They hate my family, and if I'm involved at all, I will be their designated goat."
"But why do you think that?" she pressed. "The alliance falling apart, I mean."
Orion took a sip and raised an eyebrow at her. "You were definitely a Gryffindor."
Hermione managed a chuckle. "Yes, I was," she said. It wasn't even a lie. "But what do you mean?"
"I must ask you not to repeat this to anyone."
"You have my word."
He hesitated. "It's because many of the purebloods are opposing this Renaissance thing simply because it's Riddle's proposal," he said bluntly. "Some of them, like Malfoy—and I mean no disrespect to him; he is my friend—some of them do have a tradition of small families. But others just hate Riddle. My family has suffered enough setbacks, and I won't have them hurt more over a policy that I don't even disagree with."
Hermione was taken aback; she had not expected that. "I'm sorry?"
"I don't disagree with the plan," Orion repeated. "I realize you do, and I suppose I can understand where you are coming from as a witch, but… according to my views, and the way I was raised, the more pureblood children, the better. It's the way my family has always conducted itself. The ones who create trouble can go their own way, and the family will be left with other choices for the heir. The families like the Malfoys may think their way is better for securing the line, but I don't believe it is."
Hermione fell back in her seat and thought about it quickly. Yes, she realized, the Black family had produced multiple children in most generations. Arcturus had two children, Pollux had had three, Cygnus had already had three daughters….
"I have to look out for my family first," Orion repeated, "and I don't want to antagonize the Riddles against my family any further, especially not over an issue for which I'm actually on their side. I'm sorry I can't be of further help to you." He finished his drink, paid for it, and departed.
That evening, Hermione sat at her desk with her list of Reformists on the Wizengamot before her. She studied the names, trying to determine whom to approach first now that Black had been a surprising dud.
"There you are," Tom's voice sounded as he entered their bedroom.
Hermione jumped in her seat and quickly banished the papers to her locked drawer. He had a private study in the house, she thought. She should have claimed a room for herself. Well, there was still that spare bedroom on the top floor, where the children slept….
"I'm here," she said, turning around and managing a smile.
He had a decidedly hunted look on his face. A tension that she had not seen in quite a while filled his eyes, anxiety over what was happening behind the scenes on the Wizengamot. She felt a pang of guilt.
He needs to feel vulnerable occasionally, she reminded herself.
He strode across the room and stopped behind her chair. Her eyes fluttered closed as he rubbed her shoulders. "You shouldn't work this late," he murmured.
"I suppose not," she agreed. She breathed deeply, focusing only on his touch, then turned around and opened her eyes.
The tension was gone, and he was gazing her with a hungry look in his dark eyes.
Hermione's heart thudded. That look—that look could still do to her what it did in seventh year. And he knew it.
In a few minutes, they were falling onto the mattress half-dressed, the remaining items of clothing rapidly coming off as they grabbed at each other. In a few more, they were locked together, sweating and frantic.
Later, after they had collapsed into each other's embrace, after their breathing had slowed to a normal rate, Hermione realized that her fingers were still threaded into his silky black hair, keeping his head nestled into the space between her shoulder and her head. He seemed so sweet right now, so devoted and hers….
What am I doing? she thought.
She rapidly pushed the thought from her mind.