Notes: Well, look what rose from the near-dead! I recently was bitten by the bug to write something new for this couple, and Valentine's Day is approaching, so what better occasion?
There are… well… some real-world inspirations in this. Those who follow political news will see what I mean. However, I wouldn't say it's allegory at all, because it builds strongly on the important events in previous chapters of this fic, actually tying together a lot of the discrete threads that formerly only got quick allusions in the story after their plot arcs were completed. Thus, this is another plot development that is about this story and this AU first and foremost, at least in my opinion. :)
Finally... the ending of this is VERY MUCH NSFW!
Chapter Thirty-Two: Conspirators
February 14, 1963.
Tom considered what to do for Valentine's Day. Hermione was unlike many people in that she would not take severe offense if the day passed without observance. She knew what he felt for her. In fact, Tom thought wryly, she would probably be more inclined to distrust a splashy gesture from him—not to lose faith in his affections, but to wonder if he had some additional, self-centered motive behind it. He supposed that he was partly to blame if she reacted that way; he had admitted on previous occasions that he had no qualms about seizing professional advantage from actions that were primarily about his marriage or family if there was some professional benefit to be had. He did not see anything wrong with it; it did not diminish the sincerity of his personal, private motives, but it was sound to seize any benefits on offer.
And Hermione herself was more likely than he was to be so absorbed in her work that she forgot about Valentine's Day, he thought. He did not have to do something special, but he wanted to.
It would also serve a practical purpose that hopefully would reduce his anxiety level—and hers. Hermione probably experienced less stress than he did, since her main job now consisted of managing the wizarding museum, but a sprawling international criminal investigation that a division of the Aurors had begun would potentially touch her in the near future as a witness. And, too, a recent Wizengamot vote had driven a bit of a wedge between them, which he wanted to heal. He and Hermione had voted differently on the question of whether to permit Squibs to hold seats on the Wizengamot, and the vote had narrowly passed.
It wasn't even that Tom had wanted the proposal to fail because he despised the substance of it. Although he thought—and still did—that the Wizengamot was meant to be for witches and wizards, he did not care that much if a Squib or two were seated. The main problems he had were political—and personal. The very close vote and possible political consequences had made it uncomfortable to discuss with Hermione. Tom rather resented that politicians on the Wizengamot had managed to create space between them, and he was not going to let it persist.
Nobby Leach, a Reformist recently awarded a seat on the Wizengamot, had called for the vote. The proposal had divided all three parties—and although they were now called "parties" rather than "factions," they did not have their own Gringotts accounts or formal structures. Most of the Wizengamot preferred a certain degree of independence that would be compromised if they were beholden to party money and obligated to vote as a party, which led to divided votes at times. However, they certainly had informal leaders. Tom naturally headed his own party, Orion Black had taken up the mantle for the Isolationists, and Septimus Weasley still spoke for the Reformists—though Tom suspected that this Leach was angling to replace him in that role. He did not like that idea one bit. Weasley he could handle, but Hermione had told him that Leach would have been the first Muggle-born Minister for Magic in the alternate timeline. That was… concerning. There was no immediate threat; the Reformists did not have anything close to the numbers to depose Tom. However, he did not want to have to rely on Isolationists to hold his office. They would back him over a Muggle-born Reformist, but that would obligate him to them. Currently he had enough crossover support from the Isolationist and Reformist parties that neither could bully him.
Leach was certainly ambitious—and canny, too. He had made sure to introduce his proposal in the most generic terms possible, as simply a law to allow Squibs to serve on the body, with no details about the number of seats Squibs could hold, no conditions about the Squibs themselves, and no requirement to seat any Squibs. That vague proposal had produced some interesting fault lines. A few of the Isolationists had not been averse to a single seat for a Squib as long as the person was from a pureblood family and was barred from voting on matters that did not explicitly involve Squibs. The Wizarding Nationalists had split down the middle, generally dividing between those who held that magic itself was crucial and those who held that magical ancestry gave one full rights in the wizarding world. Most of the Reformists did support Leach's proposal, but a few holdouts also took the view that it privileged "magical blood." For them, though, that was a reason to oppose it.
Tom had a couple of tentative plans to try to prevent Leach from posing an upstart threat to him. The first was to emphasize the eventual findings of the Aurors' investigation, which he expected would reflect extremely well on his government, his major decisions as Minister, and especially his placement of the Aurors under the Office of the Minister, where they were freed to examine challenging cases rather than pursuing low-level offenders. The other plan… loath as he was to admit it… was to not act like a sore loser, but to take ownership of Leach's Squib law and devise details for its implementation that satisfied as many Wizengamot members as possible. It would look magnanimous and would give him a great deal of credit for the execution of the law, rather than deferring it to whatever harebrained ideas the Reformists might devise. He would need to ask Hermione for her ideas for this, which meant that they would have to become comfortable talking about it. What better occasion than a special dinner as a couple?
Tom reflected wryly that this dinner was indeed going to be another instance of getting professional benefits out of an action that he took primarily for personal reasons. He wanted to do something special for Hermione and bridge the gap that had opened up between them lately. But he also wanted to talk policy with her.
He considered his options. The Leaky Cauldron was absolutely out of the question; never highbrow, that tavern had still taken a very disreputable turn recently. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had even issued a notice advising against using it to enter Diagon Alley. The Serpents' Chalice was principally a drinking establishment, and it was strongly associated with politics. Although Tom meant to discuss that subject with Hermione, the Chalice still did not seem like a proper venue for a couple's night out. The Isle of Apples was a nice restaurant in the wizarding district, of course. It was not upscale, at least not in the way that many Muggle restaurants in London were, but there was not enough of a market for a true upscale restaurant for witches and wizards. The well-to-do hosted their own private dinner parties at home. Wizarding couples just did not seem to dine out for romantic occasions that much, certainly not often enough to support a business that catered to them. It was unfortunate, but so it was. The Isle of Apples it was, then. At least I can request a private table, he thought. He got up from his chair and walked to his office Floo to make his reservation. Hermione would be pleasantly surprised.
That evening, Tom went to the child care center for employees of the Ministry—another of Hermione's ideas that he had implemented—and got Virgil and Cynthia out. His young daughter was visibly sleepy. For half a second Tom resisted the thought that entered his head—what if someone looks down on me for this?—but then he decided that he did not care about the good opinion of anyone who would. He scooped her up in his arms and held her close to his chest. Her brown curls, very much like her mother's, tumbled over his coat sleeve. She yawned and curled against him. Virgil took hold of his father's arm and gazed outward, his face deliberately sedate and serious. Tom stifled a chuckle; even the child who was intellectual enough that the diadem of Ravenclaw called out to him wanted to impress others.
He Apparated home with them. To his surprise, he arrived home before Hermione did. If he and Hermione really were going to have dinner at a restaurant, the children would have to eat first. Fortunately, there were leftovers from the night before, carefully preserved with charms, which Tom removed from the pantry and warmed. He magically sliced some apples and oranges and sent the entire works flying toward the table in the family dining room.
Virgil's brow furrowed for a moment, but he quickly figured out what was likely going on. Cynthia was more confused. "Daddy? Are you going to eat?"
He ushered them to their chairs. "I'm going to eat later. Your mother and I are going out."
The little girl's face crumpled in upset and then outrage. She prepared to object loudly when her brother, much to Tom's relief, defused the situation. "It's Valentine's Day, Cynthia," Virgil explained. "That means Mum and Dad are supposed to go out to eat." He smiled at his sister. "Remember how the Ministry had red cupcakes? Mum and Dad haven't had their Valentine's Day yet, though, so they need to."
She considered this, finally nodding in resignation, an adorable scowl on her face. Pleased, Tom sat back in his chair and waited for Hermione to arrive. The distinctive sound of Apparition told him that she was home.
Cynthia nearly burst out of her chair when Hermione entered the room. "Guess what?" she exclaimed. "Guess what?"
Hermione raised her eyebrows at Tom.
"Daddy wants to take you out to eat!" the little girl proclaimed exultantly, delighted at having delivered this important news first. Virgil groaned, being more sensitive. He had been quite sure that their father had wanted to tell their mother himself.
Although Virgil was right, Tom instantly smiled, because it did not really matter that his daughter had blurted it out. "It's true," he said. "I have a reservation for us. And they know that they should get to bed on time."
Virgil nodded at once. "I can handle everything," he boasted.
"Yes, you probably can," Hermione agreed idly. She turned to her daughter, who was pouting. "He is in charge until we return. Both of you know to get baths and stay out of trouble." She glanced at Tom again, smiling. "I confess, I had almost forgot what day it was. I'll need a few minutes to freshen up."
Tom noticed that she had a small stack of periodicals in her arms. Today must have been a delivery day for several of the publications to which she subscribed. Yes—this was the day that the three partisan weeklies went out. He had not read the two opposition magazines yet; he would catch up on that tomorrow morning. As she bent down to hug the children and then headed upstairs to their bedroom, he thought about telling her she did not need to bring politics to dinner… but then he reflected on what their conversation would include. Perhaps it made sense.
Hermione reemerged shortly, her hair tamed and her face glowing. She did not have the periodicals—but she did have her beaded bag, the very one that she had used for twenty years. Perhaps the magazines were inside it. She gave final instructions to Virgil and Cynthia to behave themselves before turning to Tom and saying in a low voice, "Lock your study if you are leaving… you know… here."
Tom scowled for a fraction of a second. He really wished that she would not speak of it in such a way. Their family owed its existence to the diary, for one. In addition, the children still had their father, and she had her husband, because of it, and she knew all of that. Still, he thought, it's fair of her to expect the study to be locked if the children are here by themselves. "I am leaving it here," he said, "and the door is locked."
She was relieved. "Good," she said, squeezing his hand. "They're so curious… and if Madeline were here, she would take an interest in it too." She smiled as they walked down the first-floor hallway of their home. "I had a letter from her today. She has a game this Saturday, and it'll be the first one she has the chance to play now that the seventh-year Chaser has joined the Wasps."
"I hope that she continues to focus on her studies and doesn't go Quidditch-mad," Tom grumbled. "They are all very intelligent."
"I don't think there is any danger that she will neglect her studies."
They reached the front door. Tom politely opened it for her, stepped outside after her, and pulled it shut, locking it behind them just before they Apparated together to Diagon Alley.
"Welcome, Minister and Mrs. Riddle," the maitre d' said as he showed the couple to the private nook that Tom had reserved. Despite being a fairly generic restaurant, the Isle of Apples was the place to be for couples tonight. Several people craned their heads or gazed upon Tom and Hermione in surprise as the pair made their way to the back of the restaurant.
They were shown to a quieter, dimmer section on the upper level. The maitre d' pulled back a gauzy curtain to reveal a small alcove just large enough for a table and chairs for two. "This is a privacy curtain," he explained. "No one can hear or see you from the outside! Just the thing for a couple of your stature to enjoy this lovely evening."
Tom was smugly pleased as he and Hermione took their seats. They ordered quickly, being quite familiar with the menu. As soon as they were alone, Tom noted that the curtain muffled all sounds from outside when closed.
"Hermione," he said at once, "I wanted to do this tonight. We have been a bit strained since the Wizengamot vote, and it's not right. It's just a difference of opinion, nothing that should come between us." He gazed at her with his dark eyes wide.
In that moment, Tom looked so innocent and sincere to Hermione that she wanted to lean across the table and kiss him. She supposed that she could, if the curtain really did offer visual privacy, but he wanted to talk right now, so physical affections could wait a bit. She smiled at him instead. "I agree," she said warmly, "and I'm so glad you remembered. I didn't," she said with a chuckle. The smile momentarily faded. "I couldn't think of much today after what I read…."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's discuss that later," she urged. She did mean to talk about it, but it would distract and probably upset him. "You were talking about the Wizengamot vote?"
"Ah. Yes." He sipped his wine. "Well… here is the situation. You know how I voted and why. Nonetheless… I don't hate the idea of a Squib or two on the Wizengamot. We just want to do it right—do it responsibly—and not allow that ambitious Reformist Leach to make it his own policy, on his terms, or the terms of the people he surrounds himself with." He stared at her. "Since you voted for it, I wondered…. What ideas did you have in mind for implementing it? How do you think it should be done?"
Hermione considered his question. She believed him when he said he did not hate the idea, and she definitely believed that he did not want Leach to get credit for everything associated with the new policy. That meant that what Tom really wanted from her were ideas for implementing the new law that would not appear to be blatantly Reformist in nature. Half of his own party had voted for this, and he wanted to know what she—as the one person in that half, or in the Wizengamot at all, whom he truly trusted—thought that half of the party had in mind.
She was glad that he was discussing this with her. Although she had not liked the slight distance that had opened up between them after this vote, she was not going to compromise her views on a topic like this one to please him, nor did she expect him to compromise his for her. But he was responding to the vote in a normal, proper way—albeit the way of a manipulative schemer. That was a good thing.
"I actually don't have a problem with restricting it to Squibs who have a long-standing connection to the wizarding world," she began thoughtfully. "I completely understand your perspective about not wanting outsiders to be able to decide laws for witches and wizards."
Tom noted that. It sounded to him as if she might even be amenable to the Isolationist suggestion of limiting Squibs to voting on matters that explicitly affected Squibs themselves… but he would first find out what she meant by this present statement. "A long-standing connection… like a marriage to a witch or wizard?" he asked.
"A marriage… being a parent of a witch or wizard… or even just being employed in a wizarding institution or business," she said.
"For a certain number of years," he pressed.
She thought about that. "All right. Whatever their connection is, it must be a long-standing one of a number of years." She considered. "A decade?"
"That sounds all right to me. I'll propose that." He decided to ask the question that had occurred to him a minute ago. "Hermione, what do you think of the Isolationist idea of limiting these Squibs' voting rights to matters that explicitly involve their own kind? I don't particularly like the idea of people who cannot do magic potentially being the definitive votes on laws that only affect us. Even if they do have magical ancestors and a connection to the community, they can't do magic. Why should they get to choose what laws govern us? Why should there even be a chance of that?"
She considered. "Tom, I do see your point, but I'm not sure it's clear what does and does not 'affect Squibs.' There could be an attenuated effect… an indirect one… even an inadvertent one."
"That is a slippery slope," he said, trying to keep dismissal out of his voice when talking with his wife. "That could even be said about Muggles. You can't anticipate every possible effect."
"That could lead to laws that are deliberately crafted to affect Squibs—negatively—but that aren't explicitly stated to do so, so they don't have the right to vote on them."
Tom sat back in his chair and thought about that, In truth, he did not care that much about the hypothetical she described. In his ideal world, there would be no more Squibs. If pureblood families would stop marrying their own close relatives, there would be no more Squibs who lacked magic due to genetic problems from consanguinity. And if all the non-magical family members of Muggle-borns—the other type of Squib—married witches, wizards, or each other, rather than true Muggles, then eventually everyone with wizarding blood would be a witch or wizard.
But Tom did not live in this ideal world, and in the world that existed, there were Squibs of both types and would be for the foreseeable future. "Well…" he mused. "In that case, Squibs on the Wizengamot would have to have the same rights as everyone else to call for reviews of existing laws… or to propose new laws to stop the problem, if they think there is a problem of that sort. And anything they proposed to address 'accidental' effects of other laws would by definition affect Squibs, so there is the answer."
Hermione considered that before nodding. "I could support that."
"And if you can support it, then so would the rest of your half of our party," he said with a smirk. "The usual suspects in the other two parties, the ones who frequently cross over to back me, will probably back this too."
She agreed.
"Now," he said, "what did you read in the partisan weeklies that distracted you so today?"
Hermione sighed. She hoped he had forgot about that. This was supposed to be their Valentine's dinner as a couple. But he wanted to talk about politics as well, and so far, it had been a good, productive discussion. She was glad they had talked reasonably about the Squib vote. But this… discussion of this topic was not likely to end on such a positive note.
She reached into her beaded bag and withdrew the copy of this week's Sentry, the Isolationist weekly edited and partly written by Vasile Yaxley. Without a word, she placed the magazine on the table, sliding it in front of him next to his plate. The front-cover article, with an accompanying caricature of an Auror dressed up like a Puritan-era Muggle witch-hunter, was "The Political Prosecution of Our Movement."
Tom scowled deeply. In truth, this was not a total surprise to him, but it did complicate things.
He gazed at the curtain that separated Hermione and him from the other diners on this floor. Considering for a moment, he flicked his wand at it. A shimmer of red light flowed down the curtain and then disappeared. "The Aurors' investigation is classified," he said brusquely. "Whatever security the restaurant has is not good enough."
"Of course," she agreed. She leaned forward across the table. "Tom, I've been ordered to testify about the trip to Albania next week."
He nodded. "That does not surprise me. Kona himself is a witness for the trafficking of magical children, naturally," he sneered with contempt, "but it makes sense that they would want to hear from someone who uncovered it first, not just someone they pressured into making a deal." He gazed at the issue of The Sentry. "That pile of thestral waste, though…. Something needs to be done. Yaxley is trying to get people to doubt the Aurors because they are likely to catch Malfoy."
Late last year, Vincent Rosier had come to Tom with concerns about his uncle, Florian Rosier. The man had already heavily implied to his nephew that he had known about the murder conspiracy in the Muggle Soviet Union of a few years ago, but Tom had declined to prosecute after he and Hermione successfully thwarted the criminal activity in Russia and Ukraine. However, from what Vincent had told Tom, his uncle might be involved in something else now—and actively involved, not just aware of what others were doing. Florian Rosier had returned to France very abruptly and unexpectedly, surrendering headship of the Rosier family to Vincent—a wizard with whom he disagreed politically, and whom he himself had cut off a few years ago. It had blindsided Vincent, who had not had any reconciliation with his blood-purist uncle that would have presaged the act. Florian had alluded to a pivotal role in French wizarding politics, and had implied that his "contacts in the East" were funding this endeavor.
Tom and Hermione had agreed that everything about Florian Rosier's intended return to France was suspicious, and Tom had directed an Auror to investigate it. The wizard had presented him with indications that Rosier's actions hinted at something much bigger, so Tom then created a formal division dedicated to white-collar crime, the Office for Financial Crimes and Corruption. Former Chief Auror Abbott and others with an aptitude for this type of work, largely Slytherins and Ravenclaws, had joined. Tom had been uneasy about creating such an office at first, but he remembered that his dealings two decades ago with Grindelwald were known to no one except himself, Grindelwald, and Hermione—and the information was secured under the Fidelius Charm. As for the rest of his career, Tom had little to worry about. He certainly used intimidation, political dirty tricks, blackmail, and even occasional Imperius Curses or Memory Charms to get his way, but he was not financially corrupt. Bribery was a weakness for the one offering money just as much as the one accepting it, Tom felt, and he himself certainly was not financially beholden or subject to extortion. Now, he was certain that he had done the correct thing in forming the new Auror division. The investigation had only begun two months ago, but its early findings hinted at an explosive international conspiracy involving radical blood-purity supporters throughout Britain, Europe, and Russia, funded in part by wizarding organized crime based in the Eastern bloc. The crime families made their money by trafficking in black-market potions ingredients, endangered magical species, and even magical children. It was starting to look very much as if all the major events of Tom's tenure as Minister—the Soviet crisis, the discovery of Aleksander Kona's child trafficking, the coordinated attack by Malfoy and Florian Rosier via the Prophet, even the brief and unofficial campaign of Caspar Crouch to replace Tom—were connected to this conspiracy, and the figures involved had not yet given up.
Hermione sighed, bringing Tom out of his reverie. "Malfoy is not going to go down without a fight. I'm absolutely certain that he is the one directing the attacks. He and Vasile Yaxley are old pals. Remember the campaign to attack us after we went to the Soviet Union, when Yaxley still worked at the Daily Prophet?"
Tom certainly remembered. "He knows he is going to Azkaban if this investigation implicates him."
"And his movement's grand goals to subvert the wizarding governments of France, Germany, and this country will amount to nothing," she said.
That, indeed, was where the Aurors suspected the conspirators' goals tended. The three allies, all of whom had wizarding heads of government opposed to the radical blood-purity movement (even though these leaders differed on other topics), appeared to be the top targets for the criminals. Tom was quite certain that Abraxas Malfoy's previous attempts to undermine him were part of this plan.
"Florian Rosier almost certainly went back to France to interfere with French politics on behalf of organized crime and radicals in the Soviet bloc, the same ones who arranged for Muggles to murder witches and wizards," he growled. "It's just a matter of proving it. He's a fool. It won't be long before the Aurors catch him. All they likely need to do is slip him a stiff drink! But Malfoy is different, I agree." He gazed at The Sentry. "What does that rag say?"
Hermione glowered. "It's not coherent, but that probably won't matter to its readers. Essentially, Yaxley is claiming that the Aurors are biased because you moved them from the Department of Law Enforcement to the Office of the Minister—"
Tom scoffed.
"—that the operation in Russia was not what you claimed it was, but was instead an effort to remove Igor Karkaroff due to his political beliefs…." She paused, gazing at him wryly.
"Thank you so, so much, Lovegood," Tom snarled. The Lovegoods had begun that conspiracy theory after the events in the Soviet bloc in 1958, and although the Quibbler had not pushed it again after Tom's press conference explaining what had really happened, it was clearly useful for the likes of Yaxley and Malfoy that someone unaligned with their movement had proposed it first.
"…That Caspar Crouch is cooperating with the probe because he blames poor, poor Malfoy for his own failure and wants revenge on him," Hermione continued sarcastically.
"Crouch was damned lucky that he wasn't successful," Tom remarked, "and I am not referring to anything I might have done to him."
Hermione lowered her voice even though they were behind Tom's security charm. "Are you implying what I think you are?"
"They were using him. I don't like him, but he was a tool for Malfoy. Do you really think they would have let him live if he had taken over my job? Especially if they could make it look like their enemies had done it?"
Hermione gaped at her husband. "Do you have proof of that? If this is something the Aurors have found, I don't think I should have heard it—I still have to testify about Kona—"
"It's only my own guess," he admitted, "but I expect they'll find it to be the case. Is that it, then? The investigation is political because I moved the Aurors, Crouch is taking revenge on 'poor' Malfoy, and the Quibbler was right all along that our operation in St. Petersburg was a coup?" Scorn dripped from his words.
Hermione smiled darkly. "Well, also that the Healers lied about Auror Abbott's not being infected in the Greyback raid, and that we're blackmailing her with this information—and her beau Griffith Diggory in the Department of Mysteries, too, though what that department has to do with it, I can't quite decipher. That part seems to be general fear-mongering about a secretive division of the Ministry."
Tom rolled his eyes and sipped his wine. "I think we can handle this. If this is the best Malfoy and his friends can do, we should be able to deal with it. The Americans are balking—Violet Parsons does not want her Aurors who supported us in Russia questioned by mine—but I think they will come around."
"They are fortunate that the blood movement has not targeted them," she said tartly. "If Parsons has any political sense, she will allow her people to cooperate."
He nodded. "Parsons will see reason. I'm more concerned about the effect that article could have on the Isolationists. I don't think they will adopt those views as a whole… but it's a problem if they do. Of course, if they let themselves be sullied with this filth attacking Aurors, our party might get flooded with Isolationists ashamed to be associated with it, and that would benefit that social-climbing prat Leach. I need the support of a few of them. I do not want them taking over my party."
Hermione considered this. For her part, she did not particularly care if the blood-purist party was discredited… but Tom was probably right that longtime Isolationists who did not support the attack on the Aurors would simply shelter under the Wizarding Nationalist banner and not change their views one jot. "Orion Black is supposedly the head of that party," she said. "He should rein this in."
"He supports the Aurors and their investigation," Tom agreed. "He needs to purge the Wizengamot members who don't. If they occupy family seats, they need to be removed in favor of relatives who aren't seditionists. I will recommend this to him." Tom drained his wineglass. His handsome face was hard and confident.
Hermione suppressed a wince at his use of the word "seditionists" and his eagerness to direct an opposition leader who he knew was afraid of him. For all of his changes over the years, he was still, at the core, a would-be autocrat. "Yes, do that," she urged, swallowing her unease. "It's Black's job to control his party."
"It certainly isn't mine," he said. He finished his food and gazed at her, fingering the rim of his empty wineglass. A smug smile appeared on his face. "Is there anything else about politics that we should discuss?"
Hermione gazed back at him, suddenly very aware of the fact that his necktie was not perfectly taut. It had loosened slightly during the day and hung away from his collar by a finger's width. "Not that I can think of," she replied.
He placed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "Good. I didn't want this evening only to be about discussing work." He studied her face. "It has been a while since we made an 'occasion' out of our… marital activities."
Hermione flushed deep pink and stared wide-eyed at him. "We do it at least twice a week! What do you mean by 'an occasion'?"
"Twice a week we collapse into bed and manage to have a quick tryst before we fall asleep from exhaustion," he said. "And don't mistake me; I'm quite glad of that, but it's not an occasion."
Hermione glanced at the curtain. "Is that still—?"
"My spell is still up, yes. This is classified too, of course," he drawled, smirking. "I don't want anyone to hear about how you and I need to go home and make a special occasion of lovemaking." He tapped his fingers on the table. "You were looking at my tie. Maybe that should be part of it. I know how much you like that."
She stared at him, trying to banish the heat from her face. They were still in public, even if the curtain shielded them. They would have to pass through the crowd of customers to return home. Amused, Tom glanced at her empty water glass. "It might help to refill that," he said, still grinning. Hermione glowered, well aware of how much he was enjoying her reaction, but nonetheless cast the spell to fill the glass with icy water.
When they Apparated home, as soon as they were inside the house and the door was safely locked behind them, Tom turned to Hermione in the hallway and wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her close to him. He leaned in, placing an open-mouth kiss on the side of her face near her jawline.
"Despite our talk tonight, some conspirators are quite all right," he murmured. He slipped the tip of his tongue out and lightly licked the sensitive spot right between her jaw and her earlobe. "I'll check on Virgil and Cynthia. Be ready." He nipped her earlobe and then pulled back, regarding her with a wicked smirk for a moment before sweeping upstairs to see to the children. Hermione stood in the front hall for a few seconds, breathing deeply as her thoughts whirled with images of what she knew would soon happen. She was rather looking forward to it. He had been right that their intimacies were generally not "special occasions." Of course, that made the times that were—like tonight—even more anticipated. A smile formed on her face as she went upstairs to their bedroom.
When he entered the room, she had stripped off her heavier winter clothes and was lounging comfortably on the bed in her nightgown, the creamy skin of her arms visible to him through the filmy translucent sleeves. She smiled at him as seductively as she knew how—and after eighteen years, she knew very well indeed what stirred his blood. He stared at her for a moment before striding across the room, kicking off his shoes and shedding his long coat in the process, and mounting the bed at once, the already loose knot in his green necktie coming untied in his dexterous fingers.
"Give me your wrists, my dear," he murmured, lifting up the hem of her nightgown.
He certainly was not wasting time, she thought as she complied. There were some nights when they played this game that she resisted, because that was what the game seemed to demand that night—but tonight was not one of those nights. She closed her eyes as the silken fabric wound around her wrists, the sensation somehow heightened by the sudden lack of visual sensory input. Tom tied the two ends of the necktie, and Hermione felt the mattress shift as he climbed atop her.
Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was hovering above her, his legs splayed on either side of hers. Her eyes snapped open when he planted an intense, wet, possessive kiss on her neck, and then proceeded to move down her body, leaving kisses on her collarbone, her breasts—he pulled the bodice of her nightgown down, revealing them to his greedy dark eyes—
"Hermione," he murmured against her stomach, "darling… I don't remember if I have said this lately… but… I love you." He lifted the filmy skirt of her nightgown and kissed her right on the hemline of her knickers, a tease of more to come very soon.
An involuntary cry escaped her mouth at that. He had said the words many times, and she knew that he felt it whether he said it or not, but most of the time it was after their intimacies, when they were both basking in the vulnerable and uninhibited moments right after their release. For him to say it with full consciousness, full control—
She squirmed on the bed, suddenly feeling a flood of dampness in her knickers. "I love you too," she said, "and I want you. Now. Please," she added as he gazed at her challengingly, perfect black eyebrows raised in mock affront at her demands of him.
He trailed a single finger over the hemline of her knickers, making her shudder beneath him as he studied her with amusement and lust in his face. "Well," he drawled, "I was going to give you what you want."
"'Was'? Please, Tom."
The hand that was already tormenting her slipped between her legs, now tracing the hemlines circling her legs. She twitched again, groaning when his fingers passed over the heated mound and the damp spot in between her legs.
"I suppose that if you want me this much, I had better oblige," he murmured, his mouth so close to her arousal that she could feel his breath.
"Yes," she gasped, "you had better."
He gave her a wicked look, taking great pleasure in the pleading visible in her honey-brown eyes, as he removed the undergarment and descended on her womanhood, hot and wet and more than ready for him.
Hermione's eyes fluttered closed again as his tongue and fingers plundered her core with expert dexterity that came of years of practice and total dedication to each other. For Tom, it was a matter of personal pride to know exactly what to do to bring her to sublime bliss—when to tease her with his tongue, when to plunge his long fingers deep into her heat, when to pull away completely to leave her wanting more.
Besides, he knew that this would never be one-sided. He would always have his pleasure as well, and it would be that much sweeter and more satisfying to have it after bringing her so close—
He pulled away suddenly, withdrawing his fingers from her cunt, leaving one torturous kiss on her womanhood before drawing back to gaze at her once again. One side of his mouth edged upward in a lopsided smirk.
"Tom, that's cruel," she protested, still trembling from being brought so close to climax and then left hanging.
"I would never be cruel to you," he replied, still smirking. "I will make you come, my dear—but, as you can see, I have needs too." Impulsively he surged against her lower abdomen, pressing his erection against her skin through his clothes. "But there is a problem. And you are going to watch me as I resolve this issue," he snarled, though there was no anger in his words. He was already unbuttoning his white shirt as he spoke.
Hermione watched with eager, almost audacious lust as he stripped off the shirt, unbuckled his belt, and pulled off his trousers and underwear with them. Once he was completely naked, he gazed at her with unabashed desire, hovering over her with need written in every gleam—perfectly white, no hint of red—of his eyes.
He did not waste any time. She could barely process the sight of him staring at her with the undiminished obsession of their teen years and the passionate love of their maturity before he surged forward, filling her completely. Although her hands were still bound, she reached for him, finding some measure of purchase by encircling his head with her tied wrists. Her fingers found their way to the edges of his soft hair. A sound that was half-groan, half-cry escaped his mouth at her touch even as he moved inside her.
He gripped her hips to steady himself as he moved, leaning forward and placing a kiss on her shoulders that was partly a nip of his teeth and would certainly leave a mark. Somehow, that thought did not bother her, and the idea of removing it with magic did not appeal at all. They belonged to each other, after all. She rose up slightly from the mattress as he plunged deeply into her, shuddering in pleasure at the sensation that was somehow heightened by her own movement. Her upward shift was just enough to return the favor. She leaned in and nipped at the spot where his neck met his torso, provoking a groan of pleasure—or protest?—or both from him.
He pushed her back down, his grip on her hips tight and firm. A heavy, deep breath escaped his chest as he gazed intensely at her. His black hair, usually perfectly combed, was mussed and unkempt now. He looked as if he wanted to say something to further tease her, but coherent speech was no longer possible. Hermione gazed back at him, also breathing heavily, close, so close to her climax—
He lifted one hand from her hips and pressed against her clit. The sensation, the dual pressure, sent her over the edge. A gasp left her lips. She reached with her arms, which were still bound. He seemed, somehow, to realize that she needed to dissipate her release and murmured a spell under his breath that wandlessly untied the knot and unwound the silk tie from her wrists. Barely stopping to think, not even needing to, she grabbed handfuls of his hair and cried out, shaking and trembling, clenching his length tightly as he had his own release in her.
Neither of them was quite sure how much time elapsed before they became fully in control of their bodies once again. After some indeterminate number of minutes, Tom became aware that he was lying on top of Hermione, clutching her sides, his head nestled between her neck and her shoulder. "Happy Valentine's Day, my beloved fellow conspirator," he murmured.
She smiled, laughed, and kissed the top of his head as she held him close.
End Notes: Nobby Leach is a figure from Pottermore. He was mired in scandals and possibly framed by Abraxas Malfoy for one that got him removed as Minister. Here I've made him far less hapless and potentially dodgy. I suspect that in the Pottermore timeline, he was chosen as Minister because people wanted to make a statement, without considering whether he was a competent politician. In canon, there are two sides and both are, in my view, radical: awful retrograde blood purists, and "progressives" who are for blood-status equality but who also support questionable causes like dubiously consensual human-giant and human-veela "relationships," few restrictions on werewolves in an era before Wolfsbane Potion, and increased Muggle contact during the Cold War and the age of terrorism. (You've probably suspected for a long time that this is not just AU Tom's view of his rivals, but is also my view of the two sides in canon Potterverse politics. I'll confirm it: It is.) However, in this AU, Tom has carved out a third side, a middle ground that appeals to many, so Leach must be cannier to advance.
Despite his Dark Magic fixation and power-hungry tendencies in politics, Tom has really come a long way from his early self in Choosing Grey. He can say The Words to Hermione and has become a good parent. :)