Notes: First, this is not the promised Cold War storyline—yet. After a personal discussion with my friend Bain Sidhe (on ffnet), I decided that Tom and Hermione needed to talk more about what had happened, especially the "unexpected" (to Hermione) pregnancy. There were two major breaches of trust in the Renaissance storyline, one committed by each of them, and I think this needed to be better resolved before I start another major storyline with them. This ended up surprisingly touchy-feely, and although I'm not sure it quite counts as family fluff, their whole family does make an appearance, so I hope you enjoy.

Chapter Sixteen: Purgatory

Although it was over, the Daily Prophet had continued to be brutal to everyone involved in the shadow campaign.

Crouch Determined To Stay, Declares Didn't Lose Because "I Never Challenged the Minister"

Irritated with Crossover Support for Riddle Administration, Radical Isolationists Want Ministry Officials To Declare Factional Loyalty

Why Hasn't Wounded Minister Riddle Made a Statement Yet?

Dumbledore, Slughorn Hedge When Asked about Riddle's Interest in Dark Arts as a Student

Dark Force Defense League: Seventh-Years Could Not Have Defeated Grindelwald Without Dark Magic

That last headline disgusted Hermione. The truth, of course, was even more explosive than the notion that Tom and she had used the Dark Arts to duel Grindelwald, but she rather resented being drawn into this at all.

She was also more than a little put out at the Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster. Although the quotations themselves might have been exaggerated—especially in the Prophet's analysis of Dumbledore and Slughorn's "hesitation" and "obfuscation"—the Prophet had photographs of both of them as they were interviewed, and their body language was indeed that of people who were trying to avoid incriminating somebody.

Dumbledore might have accepted that he was Minister now, perhaps even a good one in some ways, and he might have got over some of his dislike and distrust of Tom, but Hermione rather wished she had not ever told Dumbledore anything about Tom's alternate life, even the vague statement that she "hadn't liked" him for some nebulous things he did in that timeline and that he would have become somewhat like Grindelwald. As for Slughorn, Tom had performed a Memory Charm on old Sluggy after the confrontation in 1945 at the Black house, in which Tom revived himself after the Killing Curse and boasted to Slughorn exactly how he had done it… but Memory Charms were not infallible. People might still have scattered fragments—lacking context, but that could be easily filled in by logical deduction. And Slughorn definitely still remembered the sixth-year conversation about Horcruxes. Although Hermione doubted that Sluggy had been thinking of the Grimmauld Place confrontation when the Prophet questioned him—he shouldn't have any clear memories of Tom doing anything Dark during it—she did believe he had been thinking about the Horcrux discussion. She sincerely hoped he never told anyone else about it—and that Dumbledore never found it by Legilimency.

There seemed to be a growing consensus in the wizarding community that the Quibbler had got it right, for once, and the Minister for Magic was indeed a Dark wizard. Tom himself had admitted to using "inappropriate" curses as a prefect, and now, between the suspicious behavior of the Heads of Hogwarts and that statement by the Dark Force Defense League, people seemed more inclined to believe it than not.

Hermione knew that by the 1990s, assertions from the Dark Force Defense League would have been dubious. It would have considered Parseltongue a Dark Art, as she had learned in fourth year when the Prophet exposed Harry and quoted someone from the organization on the topic. But at the present, it was a respected organization that focused on scholarship in the field of Defense, although it also had a bit of a moralistic streak in its opposition to the Dark Arts. She herself had worked with some of its researchers, which was perhaps why the accusations hurt. And Tom himself originally believed that he had to use Dark Magic to defeat Grindelwald, she recalled, since he didn't know that Grindelwald was going to let him win. I don't think it would have been necessary, but it doesn't surprise me that a research organization would conclude that in an analysis—especially since the current narrative is "the Minister is politically wounded."

She wondered if Tom was allowing the Dark Magic rumor about the Grindelwald duel to spread because the obvious alternative—that Grindelwald lost on purpose—would only feed the conspiracy theories of the radical Reformists about his sympathies for Grindelwald's ideology, or even revive Arcturus Black's old (correct) espionage theory in radical Isolationist circles. He probably was doing just that, she thought. He did want the Dark Arts to become respectable in Britain again.

She looked over the rest of the headlines. Tom had not yet issued a statement about the Crouch collapse. The current consensus among the political class was that he was the beneficiary of an extremely lucky break and should do something to better secure his standing if he meant to fend off future challenges.

He was going to do that, today in fact. This afternoon he was going to implement his amended Renaissance Plan as law and declare his intention to work with "members of other factions who want to work in good faith." Hermione was not planning to be present at the Ministry press conference. Although she was pleased that he had compromised, she still believed that the law was too extreme, and she didn't want to be seen at an event that would be interpreted as her giving her personal approval to it. She stayed at work that day, giving him the excuse that she was very busy with a problem in one of her departments. He seemed to know that she was simply uncomfortable being there, but he did not press the point.

He seemed pleased enough that evening when he came home. "It was a good press conference," he remarked over dinner. "My contact in the Prophet says that the theme in tomorrow's paper will be that I made a gracious compromise with a policy that had not even been a major controversy during the shadow campaign. It's about time there was some better press."

The children stared at their plates uncomfortably. He noticed. "What's the matter?" he asked them.

Virgil only seemed to bury himself deeper in his chair, but Madeline looked up. "At Mum's office today, Theresa Brocklehurst said that Dad practiced Dark Magic."

"The daughter of one of my employees," Hermione added quietly.

Madeline gave Tom a querying glance. "Was she talking about the cabinet of Dark items in Dad's study?"

Hermione shot Tom a pointed look, nonverbally telling him, This one's all yours, dear.

Tom regarded his children contemplatively. "Madeline—you too, Virgil, look at me. Both of you are young, but you're smart, and you're obviously thinking about this already."

They looked up, Virgil more reluctantly than his sister.

"Theresa Brocklehurst was not talking about my curio cabinet. She was talking about some things that are being said in the newspapers about me. Now, there's something you need to understand about Dark Magic. The Dark Arts are an old type of magic. Merlin himself practiced them at times. They often—but not always—are associated with doing harm to others, but what really makes a spell Dark is if it changes what it does according to your intent. I do know the Dark Arts. I've studied many fields of magic, and I hope you do too. I created a spell once that can be used to heal injuries, but it's considered Dark because the caster has to want it to heal for it to do that, and the target has to welcome the pain it causes when it heals. That is absolutely necessary for it to work, and if either person thinks something else, it will do great harm instead."

The children were listening intently. Hermione decided that she would intervene if he said anything that she didn't like, but so far, she hadn't heard anything objectionable.

"Spells that aren't Dark don't require you to mean them. If you say the words correctly and wave your wand right, that's all it takes. On the other hand, people can say Dark spells, but if they don't mean them, they won't work. There are also Dark spells that become stronger if you mean them more. Our will is very powerful, and the Dark Arts use it much more than other forms of magic. Some people find that frightening." He regarded them speculatively, watching them to see how they took this.

They seemed to accept his explanation. The looks of concern on their young faces lifted, and Hermione did not see anything wrong with what he had said… this time. She did wonder what it implied about the Patronus Charm, which worked best if the caster focused on a very powerful happy memory. Perhaps the Patronus Charm was once classified as a Dark Art, but as the word "Dark" became more defined as "harmful" than as "unpredictable," wizards stopped thinking of a positive spell that way. It was an interesting consideration.

Ever since their long argument and discussion about Hermione's secret political activities, she had felt that matters between them had not quite been fully resolved. They had covered a lot of ground in the argument, but not all of it that needed to be covered eventually—and after the initial catharsis of the discussion, Hermione had realized that there was a fracture, a state of broken trust between them that had not come close to being restored.

Her own activities had not actually removed him from office, but they had weakened his political standing. The press, formerly more or less on his side, had abruptly turned on him at the first sign of weakness. There was a widespread belief in politics now that unless he acted strongly to restore his position of strength, a new challenger would emerge who would not self-destruct and would succeed where Caspar Crouch failed. She was not convinced that was true; the alliance between the radicals of the Isolationist and Reformist factions was an artificial one, an alliance of convenience rather than one formed from any ideological kinship. Tom had a much more robust, natural alliance, claiming the support of the moderates of both factions, as well as his own Wizarding Nationalists. It was in his interest for the radicals to become more powerful in their factions, because that would drive the moderates to his faction. When it came to the Wizengamot vote, he was quite secure in his seat. But his political authority would be diminished if people thought his seat was precarious—and it was her doing. He had been relieved to learn that she had not ever actually wanted him out of office, but she had broken his trust and done him harm anyway.

Although he had not harmed her, he had broken her trust as well in tampering with her contraceptive potion. Now that she was pregnant with their child, she wanted to keep it, but it did offend her that he had simply acted behind her back without even asking her. Either he hadn't cared at all about her choice in the matter despite her being his wife, purportedly his equal partner, or he hadn't trusted that he could discuss it productively with her. Thinking of the first possibility angered her; thinking of the second one hurt.

She decided that these issues needed to be discussed. They needed to have them out in the open so that they could begin to close the breach. That night, after the children had gone to bed, after they had each had baths, after a very satisfying romp in bed that she knew would make each of them feel close and open to the other, she brought it up.

"I need to know something," Hermione said, idly stroking his leg as she lay next to him on the pillows.

He tensed slightly but inclined his head toward hers, his eyes meeting her own.

"Why didn't you ask me about—this?" She pointed to her belly. "Was it because it was for politics? The three-child family you want every wizarding family to be?"

He stared at her, not unkindly, collecting his thoughts. "Hermione, I need to explain something about that."

"Please do."

"I will often want something for one reason—a primary reason, let's say—but I'll see that there are other, secondary benefits I'll get if I do it, and I have no qualms about seizing them. In fact, I consider it foolish not to, when they're on offer. It's like when I first proposed to you. You initially thought that it was because it would make me look good to Ministry officials—the 'young hero just married to his Hogwarts sweetheart—who was also a hero,' instead of the 'bachelor with a deed to his name that would make him cocky and irresistible to women.' And I didn't even argue that that had occurred to me. I'm a Slytherin. I see those things. I think of those things, and I did see the material advantages it would give me to marry you at once… but it wasn't the primary reason I wanted to. It was just a perk. A much less important perk, for that matter.

"And this is the same way. I knew that there would be political benefits, but that was not why I wanted it. I just… did."

"If that's so, why didn't you just say you wanted another child?"

He looked down, breaking eye contact, and hesitated for a second. "Because I—well, you were so vehemently against the law when I first told you about it. I was sure that you would think it was for politics, or that it was in some way related to the law—that perhaps I was determined that the law would affect you too—and that if I did ask you, you'd refuse because of that, even if you weren't actually against the idea of having another child."

Hermione's eyebrows narrowed. "Tom, if that's your true reasoning, then very well, but I didn't push you to do it. You assumed these things yourself. Don't blame me for it."

He met her eyes again. "I'm not blaming you. I'm just explaining what I thought. I didn't want to do it if you'd already refused. You would have instantly assumed that it was me, and things would have spiraled entirely out of control. I thought that if it were a surprise, something that just appeared to have happened, then you wouldn't necessarily assume that I did anything to the potion… and you also wouldn't have the revulsion that I thought you'd have had if I asked you first." He subsided.

Hermione sighed as she thought about his words. She knew that he didn't intend to place blame on her for it, especially since he hadn't given her the chance to say anything in advance, but it still troubled her. He wasn't blaming her, exactly, but it bothered her that he would think she would have reacted in such a way if he had asked her honestly. This was the second possibility she had considered, the one that hurt, and having it confirmed only hurt more.

As she thought about it, she realized why. Would I have reacted that way? she thought, somewhat distressed at the idea. If he had broached the subject of a third child with me so soon after announcing that law, would I have thought that it was for politics? She felt a swooping feeling in her gut as she realized the answer. Yes, I might have. I very well might have reacted that way.

It still didn't make this her fault, and he should have asked her anyway—it still would have been a talk, and even if she had said things like that, he could have convinced her otherwise if he had kept his cool. But it was a bit upsetting that his negative assumptions might have been correct, and it was even more upsetting that he had avoided talking with her about something so serious because he believed that she would react badly. That hurt. Clearly, she thought, we do need to rebuild trust in each other.

She took a deep breath and faced him. If they were being fully honest with each other, she couldn't create an exception for herself about this. "I don't know how I would have responded if you'd asked me first. You may be right," she admitted. "I might have responded just as you think I would have—at first. I don't know for sure. It's a possibility. But I still wish you had asked me. Even if I had that reaction, you could have persuaded me if you'd just talked—just been honest about why you really wanted it."

He did not respond in words, but he suddenly found it hard to meet her gaze. He seemed almost ashamed. She recalled the flicker of guilt in his face when she had blurted the question during their argument.

"Obviously, I don't hate the idea. This is a child of ours. How could I hate that? Our family is special, and… well… I think it'll be good for Virgil to have a younger sibling. He's so diffident and quiet… but then, Madeline does have a very forceful personality. This will be good for her too, I think." She touched Tom's chest softly. "It wasn't in my plans, but I am not against this. You should have asked me. You would have discovered that."

He reached out and held her hesitantly, almost as if asking permission nonverbally. She shifted to face him, her knees splayed over his legs, and gave him an encouraging smile. He broke into that smirk of his that she knew so well and instantly pulled her to himself.

It was very nice to be held by him once more, just held. She nestled against his chest, enjoying the calmness and warmth of the moment, before continuing with the rest of it.

"And… I should have tried to talk with you more instead of going in secret to create a situation that would put pressure on you," she admitted. "Since we did arrive at a compromise of sorts when we finally talked about it."

He tensed beneath her. She noticed the change, the slight difference in the gentleness of his embrace, and raised her gaze to his face. He seemed reluctant to speak.

"Tom?"

He breathed in deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, and then opened them again to regard her with gloom in his face. "I'm not sure I would have compromised as much," he said quietly. "I might have, I suppose. If you recall, my very first version of the Plan didn't have an exception for families that had three or more children. I decided that night, after you were so against it, that I should add in something like that and perhaps you'd like it better."

"I didn't realize that. I thought someone at your meeting suggested it."

"No—it was my own idea." He paused. "I thought it would be enough. I might have included the new exception for childless couples if you'd talked with me, but I don't know."

He doesn't know what he would have said if I'd talked to him, and neither do I if he had talked to me, she thought. She gazed at him with pleading eyes. "Let's be sure we don't have to brood about 'what if' in the future," she urged. "Let's make sure we know what we would have said to each other because we actually have all these honest, serious talks next time. It's better that way. We shouldn't play puppetmaster with each other. We're both intelligent adults. We should be able to talk seriously about important things."

His body relaxed again, and a faint smile appeared on his face. He wrapped his arms tighter around her. "Yes—and I agree. We will."

She smiled back.