Notes: Thank you all so much for your comments and for reading this story. As you can guess, it is winding down. There are only three more chapters remaining, including this one. I hope that the climax and wrap-up don't disappoint. :)
Chapter Twenty-Four: A Faustian Offer
Hermione had got up to go to the Room of Requirement, sure that Tom's smile and friendly touch had meant that the place was secure. She had continued to the seventh floor, not noticing the footsteps behind her until it was too late, and Lestrange had Stunned her behind her back.
When she woke up, an unpleasantly familiar room surrounded her: a room with creepy Victorian furniture, a lot of sickly green, and many sinister magical artifacts. She herself was seated—or perhaps slumped was more accurate—in a green velvet armchair. A stylishly balding, thinly moustachioed, middle-aged wizard sat across from her, smiling darkly as she awoke. In the shadows near the door lurked another dark-haired man, this one with heavy eyebrows and an angular face.
She groaned as she sat upright in the chair. She definitely knew this room, and that meant that the wizard with the moustache—the one seated in the most ornate chair in the room—had to be—
"Arcturus Black?" she said.
He smirked. "Indeed. And in the background, standing guard, is Pierre Lestrange. We know who you are."
"Obviously, since you had me abducted," she bit out, scowling. "What is it this time?"
Black ignored her question. "In case you take it into your head to make a daring escape, I should warn you of something. Nott is also in this house, just outside this door, along with his son and Lestrange's. Young Nott was apparently attacked with a nasty Dark curse—no doubt by your illustrious fiancé—and I can guarantee you that his father's patience is limited today."
"What do you want?" Hermione asked flatly. "Are you going to have me killed? Because I can guarantee you that you won't get away with it."
Black raised an elegant eyebrow. "I have no intention of harming you at all," he said. "I have had you brought here so that I might offer you a proposition."
Hermione scoffed. "I'm sure that by 'proposition,' you mean threat," she sneered.
Black did not respond to the accusation. Instead he reached for an item on the nearest table: a newspaper, Hermione observed. He held up the older Daily Prophet that contained their engagement shoot. The familiar series of photographs greeted Hermione, moving pictures of Tom and herself engaging in various cutesy activities.
Black smiled benignly. "A happy ending for the young hero and heroine… if one can believe what is printed in the Prophet." He stared at Hermione.
Hermione stared back, refusing to respond.
"Of course… one usually cannot believe everything in that newspaper." He slammed the paper down on the table. "Young Lestrange informed me that your true feelings about Britain's illustrious young hero are rather different from this pose you had to strike for these photographs."
Finally Hermione had to speak up. "With all due respect, Mr. Black, I don't see how my feelings about Riddle are anyone else's concern, and I'm not going to discuss them."
"You call him Riddle," Black noted. "Fascinating. Even my son refers to his intended by her given name, and they are not a… what's the term? 'Love match.'"
"I prefer not to call him Tom in front of outsiders," Hermione said pointedly. "Excuse me, Mr. Black, but where are you going with this? I am not naïve enough to believe that you care one bit how I feel about my fiancé. What do you want from me, really?"
Black looked satisfied. "You're quite correct. This would be a matter of indifference to me—except for one little detail." He smiled at her. "Can you guess what it is?"
Hermione scowled and bit her lip. "You regard him as a threat to your political movement. I'm perfectly aware of that."
Black smiled. "It did not escape my notice that there was an information leak about my allies' French associates. For a long time I believed you must have been that leak, since you had such an unorthodox background, and I am still very curious about how you spent most of your life… but I now believe that, whatever arrangement you, Riddle, Dumbledore, and perhaps Slughorn had with Grindelwald, you were the least involved in it and were probably used by the others for a part that you profoundly dislike."
"There was no 'arrangement,'" she lied.
Black ignored this. "I know that Dumbledore is a raving hypocrite, castigating my compatriots for 'using our children as pawns' for the continuance of ancient bloodlines and political power while doing the same himself—at least for the latter purpose. Your Mr. Riddle seems to want power enough that he doesn't mind it. But you… you aren't happy at all with the lot that those three—or should I say four—wizards set up for you, are you?" He regarded her steadily.
Hermione considered him impassively, not answering.
Black's mouth curled upward. Apparently he did not require an answer. "You had dreams of your own. Lestrange's son informed us that you wanted to work at the Ministry. Although my prestige has been diminished of late, I still have the power to make that happen if you assist me. You just need to tell me the specific details of the conspiracy and background."
"There was no 'conspiracy,' and you can't honestly think that I would tell you what you want to hear just for an insinuation that you would get me a Ministry job," Hermione said. "I know quite well what your ilk think of people who aren't purebloods. Why would you help me?"
"But there is no conflict between my views on blood purity and my offer. I have no objection whatever if you spend your reproductive years as an unmarried, childless witch working at the Ministry," he said. "I am quite sincerely happy to assist your ambition."
Hermione was simultaneously disgusted by his eugenicist motive and impressed with his stark honesty. For a moment she actually considered the offer. It was unpleasant to contemplate this man being her patron, or the probability that blood purity ideology would triumph in the short term if she turned Tom in, but she did consider it. Perhaps the liberal side would behave better if they were on the defensive rather than the offensive during these critical years. Perhaps—
What am I thinking? she suddenly asked herself. He wouldn't betray me, and he would punish anyone who presumed to ask him to. Also—
"Mr. Black, your cousin performed the Cruciatus Curse on me and carved up my arm. Forgive me if I find it a little difficult to trust your words."
"Ah yes, my late cousin did have rather a taste for torture. He acted independently. I did not know that he planned to do that to you and did not approve when I learned."
"No, you just ordered him to falsify evidence against me and Tom."
That visibly startled Black. Lestrange also shifted in the shadows. "How do you know about that?" Black exclaimed.
Damn it, Hermione thought in panic. Damn, damn, damn.
"No matter, I'm sure your charming fiancé got it from one of his 'friends,'" Black said, waving a hand dismissively. "That merely confirms the other thing I have suspected. He was responsible for my cousin's death, wasn't he?"
Hermione's heart thudded. Bravely she responded, "I am sure it is very difficult for you to accept the circumstances. It's never easy when someone you care for dies in any way that you could blame yourself for. Believe me… I know how that feels."
Black was scowling.
"But it's counterproductive to make an enemy of Tom over it. He is the one who is probably most responsible for the defeat of Weasley's bills."
Black sucked in his breath, trying to control his annoyance. "My dear Miss Green, how little you understand politics. I wanted Weasley to push those radical laws. The Propaganda Restriction Act would have been rather useful in the long term. The Dark Artifacts one—well, I would never have been affected, myself—it's amazing what gold will do—but had that been passed, enough people would have been affected that they would have called for repeal very quickly. My side ultimately would have benefited from it."
"So, then, Tom—"
He glared at her. "Your darling fiancé wants to change the rules of the game. He thinks he doesn't need to pick one of the traditional sides because of his 'act of heroism.' He thinks he can draw support from both sides, and it seems that he can."
"So can the Minister," Hermione pointed out quietly. "I may not be a political genius, but I do know that truly successful politicians have to be able to make compromises, or else it will be as you described, like the pendulum of a clock swinging back and forth."
"They cannot be trusted!" Black exclaimed, slamming his fist on the table. "It means their primary agenda is either personal ambition, or some mixed ideology of their own. It means their loyalty is to themselves."
"Rather than to an ideological group," she muttered. "I see. You like the known political battle lines, with the sides clearly defined and the battle strategy predictable."
"Exactly!" Black said. He smiled grimly at Hermione. "You do see why I am, as you put it, 'making an enemy' of your Mr. Riddle."
"Because you don't think you could ever own him—or categorize him as part of the opponent that you're familiar with."
"Correct. At some point prior to your little stunt, it might have been possible to use him, perhaps even to turn him into one of us. We have had a long tradition of half-blood supporters who are pleased to be given approval to hate someone lower than themselves. It was possible, but not anymore. And I dare say he knows it. He doesn't need us, and he doesn't need the Muggle-lovers. Your charismatic Mr. Riddle has managed to garner broad support in peacetime at the age of eighteen. He basically shut down two legislative bills and picked the new Law Enforcement Head! At eighteen! He is dangerous."
"You're right about that much," Hermione acknowledged.
Black regarded Hermione with satisfaction. "Good… and you disapprove of that, I see. You're wary of that. Interesting, indeed. Now that we are on the same page, let's reconsider a few things, shall we?"
Tom stood in the Room of Requirement, rapidly deciding what to do. Hermione had clearly been taken into the custody of one of the Black faction. It was probably Arcturus Black's house again, but there was no guarantee of that. He would have to get her out of there. She had saved herself before, but she was badly outnumbered this time and they would not make the mistake again of leaving her with just one person. He would need backup, he decided. Probably Slughorn. He did not think he could trust the Knights' loyalty if it turned into a fight, as he expected it to, and he did not need the buffoons breaking out in pockmarks in a battle as Hermione's hex activated.
A horrible thought crossed his mind. He strode over to the table next to Hermione's bed. The wards on the drawer were in place, but he had to be sure. He took the spells down and opened the drawer. At once he laid eyes upon his dark blue diary. He touched its leather cover, feeling his own magic and essence.
For a moment he had the impulse to pick it up and take it with him. He lifted it out of the drawer—then dropped it as if it were a hot coal.
The Elder Wand, he thought. The treacherous object. There was no reason for him to have the Horcrux with him, and it would only put it at unnecessary risk of exposure or even destruction—but that wand was still messing with his mind and making him doubt its safety here.
The Fidelius Charm is broken. There will be a confrontation when I show up, and they might use the Killing Curse. If they have a third person I don't know anything about, that person could come in here and destroy it behind my back. If I have it with me, I will know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it's safe—that I am safe. And if I'm hit by the curse, it's better to have it on my person. I'd have to repossess my body quickly, and having it there would be an additional draw for my soul. He reached for the diary again.
No. I shouldn't plan on being hit by the curse. I am better than they are. Besides, they didn't take anything from the room. Nobody knows except Hermione, and she would never tell them. No one will be coming in here until I bring her back. Thinking of Hermione brought him back to the present reality. This is about Hermione, he told himself firmly. I'm wasting time. I have to get to her.
He shut the drawer and started to put the powerful wards back on it, but doubt nagged at him once more.
Oh, the hell with it. Elder Wand influence or not, this will trouble me if I don't have it. He opened the drawer, grabbed the diary, and shoved it into his pocket.
Tom left his bag in the Room of Requirement, but he kept both of his wands with him as he strode out. His next stop was Slughorn's office. On the ground floor, he ran into Vincent Rosier.
"Riddle," Rosier said, his face full of concern.
"Later, Rosier," Tom said dismissively. He continued his purposeful stride.
"No, I think I know—they took Green, didn't they? I don't know where any of them are now, her or Lestrange or Nott."
Tom stopped walking and regarded the slight boy with a scowl. "You swore an oath," he warned.
"And I want to keep it," Rosier pleaded. "Black—he can't do this. He has to be stopped. It's not sane."
Tom continued to scowl at the boy. "I am going to tell Slughorn about it. It may turn into a duel. As far as I can tell, Lestrange and Nott—and their fathers—will be there. If you can't hold your own, it's better if you don't go."
"I can hold my own," Rosier boasted.
Tom was still skeptical. Then again, he thought, as long as he isn't a liability, at least he would be another wand. "Can you attack any of those people if it came to that?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.
Rosier winced. "I hope it doesn't come to that, but… I could. They have to be stopped."
Tom glared at him. "For me, or for their own good? And make it quick."
Rosier sighed. "Riddle, I—for both. I don't want an old family to disgrace itself like this—my sister is going to marry a Black—but I gave my support to you, of course, and I take that seriously."
"You want a job in the Ministry and think I'm your best chance to get it now."
Rosier did not respond.
"Answer me."
Rosier looked up at Tom and nodded quickly. "I was going to be kept out by Mr. Pollux because of the situation with my sister. Lestrange was an arse about it."
"At least you're honest," Tom said coldly. "I would have been able to tell if you were lying. If you prove yourself, I'll see what I can do." Tom was content; if it were primarily a personal ambition motivating Rosier, that was better for himself—and Hermione—than concern for Black's reputation. He stared at the other boy. "But know this: If you turn on me, you will regret it in more ways than one."
"I understand," Rosier gulped, "and I'm going to fight by you."
"You'd better." He regarded the smaller boy evenly for a moment. "Now we're going to see Slughorn. You will back me up when I tell him what's going on. That's your first test."
"I am not going to tell lies about Tom to get a Ministry job under your patronage," Hermione said firmly.
Black shook his head dismissively. "My dear Miss Green—"
"I am not your dear," Hermione snapped.
Black sneered. "It was an attempt at politeness."
"It was patronizing."
"You aren't Riddle's dear either, as best I can tell. I have offered to give you what you truly desire and get you out of this engagement that you very clearly do not want. The offer still remains."
"I've told you, it is none of your business—but if you insist on thinking it is, let me explain something. Maybe I won't work in the Ministry. Maybe I did have to adjust my ambitions. But there are plenty of other things I can do. The Ministry isn't the only worthy institution in the wizarding world. And as for Tom—we're very close. Very. You think I must know all these terrible secrets, but have you ever considered that if I did, that very fact would undermine your strategy? Why do you think he would tell me anything important if I were just a tool? Do you tell your daughter anything? Or your wife?"
Black shifted in his chair.
"The fundamental flaw with your plan is that you don't seem to think young witches make their own choices—that they can only be the pawns of wizards. I assure you, whatever secrets of Tom's that I know, I know them because he chose to confide in me. Because he respected me." She glared at Black, clenching her fists. "You've wasted your time, Mr. Black. You might as well return me to Hogwarts before Tom notices I am gone. Now where is my wand?"
"Nott has it."
Hermione groaned.
"And I have no intention of returning you to Hogwarts until I've got what I want from you. I will have what I brought you here for, Miss Green." He picked up his cigarette from the ashtray and puffed on it. "You had the opportunity to benefit from it, but if you are determined not to…."
"Oh, now you're going to revert to form and torture me?"
Arcturus set the cigarette back down and gazed straight at Hermione's face. "Not physically."
His eyes met hers, and her mind lurched.
He's a Legilimens too! she thought in shock. He was not as precise about it as Tom or Dumbledore, and that made the sensation much worse. Black's presence began to rifle through her memories, instantly making her head hurt.
Black was pulling up all the memories related to Grindelwald that he could find. Hermione briefly relived the duel.
"You didn't fight at all," Black gloated. "So that's what he has on you. If he told the truth, you would have no respect from anyone. I wondered."
"Get out of my mind," she snarled, trying to force Black's presence out. The one thing that gave her solace was that Black could not force the Secret of Tom's espionage out of her head. That had to be voluntarily divulged.
The memory of being abducted by Grindelwald came up. "Interesting," Black remarked. "I suppose you really weren't a spy. My mistake. You're much more useless than I thought."
Hermione slammed his mind out of hers. Her head throbbed with pain as she focused on Black's face once more. "Am I, you inbred bigot?" she snarled. "For telling Grindelwald no? If you think I couldn't have joined in when Tom dueled him, I'll have you know that I escaped your sadist of a cousin with wandless magic, and you're asking for me to—"
"On that subject," Black said, grinning as he met Hermione's eyes again. Her growing migraine prevented her from forcing his presence out immediately, and to her horror, she realized that he was searching for memories about Pollux Black.
It hurt her to relive this, but she focused on the memory of being tortured. She kept it at the forefront of her thoughts, trying to bury everything related to the murder that she could think of.
Arcturus Black was apparently not fooled. His mental presence seemed to sidestep the continuously replaying torture sequence and followed the connection that would lead to other memories about his cousin. Hermione tossed another pair at him: Pollux drunk at the Slug Club party, snarling back and forth with Tom; and Pollux at the Slug Club dinner that fall giving them both the cold shoulder.
Black dismissed these memories scornfully and continued his brutal searching of her mind. Her headache was intense. Suddenly the image of a dark blue leatherbound diary floated to the surface of her thoughts.
Hermione slammed him out of her mind so forcefully that when he came back into focus—instantly, she noticed—it was he who clutched his forehead in pain. He fell back in his chair.
"What was that?" Black demanded, rubbing his eyes.
"It's my diary," she lied, glaring at him.
"And why is that associated with my cousin?"
"Because I put that memory into it," she lied.
Black stared back at her. "You're lying. I don't know what you're lying about, but if you expect me to believe that—"
He met her gaze one last time, but she had a plan. She had to protect this secret, and she had to do it with her own mental strength. It would be catastrophic otherwise, for both Tom and her. She was an accessory, after all, for keeping the secret. And to protect it, she had to give Black something that would be so shocking and unexpected that he would stop this.
As soon as she felt Black's mind searching her own, she tossed him something else.
Holding the Time-Turner. The phoenix alighting on her head.
"Are we correct to assume, then, that you have traveled back in time?"
"The future is fluid."
"I do not know how far in the future you come from... but I think your 'accident' happened for a reason."
1944.
1944.
1944.
Black withdrew from Hermione's mind abruptly. His eyes were wide with astonishment.
"Fascinating," he breathed. He gazed at her appraisingly. "So that's it. That's how you did it. You already knew what would otherwise happen. My apologies, Miss Green. You are formidable indeed. I wonder now… was this strictly between you and Mr. Riddle? Perhaps your"—he chuckled darkly—"'cousin' knew nothing of what you were to change."
Hermione stared back at Arcturus Black, grim satisfaction filling her mind. She avoided showing it, instead forcing a look of alarm onto her face.
"I see why you refused me now. It wasn't just resigned loyalty to Dumbledore and Slughorn. You changed something, something important, and if you left Mr. Riddle, it would ruin everything."
The feigned look of alarm on Hermione's face suddenly transformed into a real one.
Black got up. "What is so important about Mr. Riddle that he had to be pushed into a Ministry career?" he demanded. "What have you changed?"
Slughorn's brow was wrinkled, and he was wringing his hands in concern. "That's quite an accusation to make, Tom," he said in troubled tones.
"I'm certain of it, though." Tom looked his professor in the eye. "It isn't the first time the Black family has shown a negative interest in her."
"Tom! Whatever do you mean by that?"
Tom considered for a moment, coming to a decision about something. "At the Christmas party you held, Pollux Black threatened her."
Slughorn gasped.
"He all but accused her of spying for Grindelwald. Apparently he and his cousin Arcturus did not know what to make of—her background." Tom stared at Slughorn, willing him to understand that he, too, was in on Hermione's secret.
Slughorn's eyes widened as he correctly interpreted that hard stare. Tom continued.
"Anyway, because of that, I think they took it into their heads that the only logical explanation was that she was planted here by Grindelwald—and Dumbledore, I think. So…." He trailed off, deciding on something else. He took a deep breath. "Pollux Black had her abducted by Portkey just as people were leaving for Christmas break. He… interrogated her about it."
"Tom!" Slughorn exclaimed.
"I'm not making any of it up," Tom said in hard tones. "And Rosier here can confirm it. I suspect he thinks Hermione had something to do with his cousin's death, because of the interrogation. You understand about the Black family—their hereditary problem."
The professor closed his eyes and nodded. He rubbed his forehead.
"And I know that Lestrange and Nott are in an alliance of sorts with Arcturus Black. Their fathers, too. Rosier can confirm that as well."
Slughorn's gaze shot quickly to the smaller boy. "It's not that I don't believe you, Tom—"
"What he is saying is true, Professor," Rosier said at once.
Slughorn winced.
"Where is Professor Dumbledore?" Tom demanded suddenly.
"He, the Headmaster, and Professor Merrythought are at the Ministry. Something about the Defense curriculum. It was probably your statement to the Prophet about it that—I mean, I don't intend to blame you—but I don't know who could be left in charge if I—"
Tom's face suddenly grew stormy. "One of the other Heads of House, of course," he said. "Unless you feel that you must stay here. But Hermione is not in this castle. I know it for a fact. Can you come with us?"
Slughorn's palms were sweaty. He fidgeted and dithered with an instrument from his desk. "Of course, if Black has had her taken—it would be best to be there, to reason with the man—and if he's used Lestrange and Nott for it—yes, I think I'd better."
"I am not telling you anything more," Hermione said. She glared at Black. "You're tired, aren't you? Legilimency is tiring."
Black peered back. "I do not have the energy for another incursion," he admitted. "But you are still without a wand, and it seems that your wandless curses only manifest when you are under immense stress. You cannot summon them at will. You are also under guard by four armed, fully grown wizards. I'm not including Nott's son, though he may have recovered by now. The advantage remains on my side." He smiled insincerely at her. "And I forgot to mention, my wife is also in this house, most probably in her own parlor or music room. She is fond of music," Black added as an aside. "Unlike you, she has not dirtied her hands with her spouse's political business. You correctly guessed that. But I'm sure that she would procure some Veritaserum for me if I sent an elf to ask it of her."
Hermione froze. She could not fight Veritaserum if they gave it to her. She would lose control of her own free will and tell them everything they wanted to know—everything, at least, that wasn't protected by the Fidelius Charm. But that was still more than enough.
A crash suddenly sounded from just outside the room, followed by a very unmasculine scream.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Stupefy!" That, Hermione noticed, seemed to be Vincent Rosier's voice.
"Crucio!"
Another unmanly scream, this one drawn-out. It sounded like Rosier.
"Reducto!" A crash. "Stupefy! Obliviate!"
"It seems that your fiancé has decided to pay us a visit," Black said. "Excellent. I'll simply find out from him directly."
"Tom is a better Legilimens than you are," Hermione said spitefully.
"Perhaps so, but is he a good Occlumens?" Black said pointedly. He headed for the parlor door.
Before he could get there, it opened with a metallic screech of hinges and slammed violently against the wall. The color drained from Black's face.
Hermione gazed past him. Slughorn was there, looking deeply disturbed at the confirmation of what Tom had undoubtedly told him. Vincent Rosier was behind him, sprawled on the ground, groaning from the aftermath of the Cruciatus Curse.
Tom stood beside his professor, holding the Elder Wand in one hand and Hermione's in the other. His features were set in a look of rage that she had rarely seen before, and his eyes gleamed as red as blood.