Author's Note: Current update speed won't last. Savour it while you can.

'-

03 Polite Conversations Between Two Wolves

Hermione is looking for a dress. Memories. Maggie Edelstein pokes around a little. Tom Marvolo Riddle visits the infirmary yet again. Teatime. A rare interlude with Tom.

'-

"Do you have any spare dresses?" Hermione asked.

"Dresses, really?" Maggie Edelstein asked, not quite sure about what she'd heard.

"Well, we know that the uniform I wore when I arrived was a mess. I can't exactly wear that, can I?"

The nurse left the cabinet she was checking and walked over to Hermione's side. Hermione admired the bright copper sheen of her hair.

"What brought this about?"

The brunette witch took a deep breath. It was not difficult to channel her actual reservations into the surface. "Well, Professor Slughorn visited and he'd been kind enough to promise to lend me his book."

"Ah," Maggie nodded sagely. She glanced at the side table where the thick volume of Hogwarts: A History lay.

"So, right around lunch time, there was this Slytherin prefect who delivered it for me."

Maggie's smile turned sly at this point. "So, Was he handsome?"

"Maggie!" Hermione's surprised wasn't even faked. "Oh, I'm sorry, Nurse Edelstein—"

Nurse Edelstein waved it away, her eye alight with curiosity. "Oh, it's alright when there's no one else. I know you're not being a nuisance when you drop the title. So, who was it? And I know he's good looking, young lady, otherwise you wouldn't have been this distracted from your books."

"Tom Riddle, Fifth year."

The nurse sat on Hermione's bed, mulling over it. "Dark hair, intense gaze?"

"Exactly."

Maggie sighed. "Ah, he's memorable alright. Already so charming at this age, isn't he? He'd grow up to be quite a lady-killer. If only I was your age."

It amused Hermione to see her lost in thought.

"Well, I'm sure he'd be flattered by your assessment." The nurse gave her a look for her cheekiness. Hermione drummed her fingers over her thighs, observing her nails. "He said that he'd deliver some library books tonight, and I know we're not even friends yet or anything of that sort, but I just hate the idea of not looking my best, you know? I already can't get out of bed much, I still can't go to class. I can't get to know my classmates and everyone's life continues to go on without me…"

"I understand," the nurse said, softly. Her hand was on Hermione's shoulder.

"It's just a little normal in your life, isn't it? It's not any trouble at all. I'm sure I have a dress that would fit you very well." Maggie said.

The younger witch looked up at that. "Oh, no! It's not necessary at all. I was just wondering if there's any extra dresses around that people forget, maybe from who knows what year. You don't have to lend me yours. It's too much—"

"It's not," Maggie insisted. "Anyway, the last dress I saw in storage here has crinoline. Do you want to wear crinoline?"

Hermione laughed at that, shaking her head.

"No, not really."

"Exactly. Now, don't bother your pretty head about it, I'll be back with the dress in no time."

'-

A dress might be a pretty confection of silk and lace, but a dress is also an armour for social occasions.

Ginny had given up trying to impart Hermione any fashion insights beyond the basic highlights. Surprisingly, it was Daphne's signature bitchiness that made Hermione snapped to attention.

("Please, Granger, you're a powerful woman. I know that, the fools that have faced your explosive wrath on the battlefield know that, but must you always dress like a cast-off spinster aunt for the Wizengamot?" The blonde Slytherin narrowed her eyes.

"I don't—"

"You do," the chorus of agreement had come from one Ginny, too-relieved to have back-up for now, and even, horror of horrors, Luna. Everyone turned to the Ravenclaw in surprise.

"I do have an eclectic taste, but the goddesses celebrate womanhood and sensuality."

Ginny and Daphne nodded in agreement at that and at Luna's ersatz-patterned but flattering dress with the low-cut back.

"Yep, still much better than Hermione," the redhead commented.

"Hey!" Nobody paid attention to the brunette's annoyance.

Daphne turned her attention back at Hermione.

"The way you dress right now only makes them underestimates you. I'm sure you can stomp them in no time every time they do that, but don't you get bloody tired of having to do it again, and again, and again? If they're not going to learn any time soon, you might as well dress like an empress. That way you'd hit them over the head hard enough with the impression of power that it would give them pause before they try to run another idiotic ploy past you."

"Are you guaranteeing that this would make them stop being an idiot?"

Daphne nodded. "If nothing changes in two months, you can go back to dressing however you like.")

Of course, Daphne wasn't wrong. Apparently, some people are just that dense that they keep judging a book by its cover, even when the damned book had gnawed their arms into stumps. She'd gotten used to what Daphne taught her, though, even developed her own sense of style. It was less of an effort for her to pay attention to her wardrobe these days than it had been before.

This was a social occasion. Ergo, her armour for the occasion would be a dress. She did her best not to over-plan. That would look too desperate. It wasn't as if they were going to go anywhere with ballroom dancing on the cards. Still, she couldn't be lax either. It was always better to go in over-prepared when you're across the table from Tom Riddle than under-prepared.

Nurse Edelstein certainly went above and beyond the call of duty, and Hermione was proud that she could certainly call her a friend now. After checking, there were three dresses that the young witch could easily wear. The first was a daring red dress that called to her, but considering the Gryffindor overtones, she skipped it with a sigh. She was looking for something more neutral.

The second dress was of a muted turquoise colour that was closer to celadon and it was the one she ended up picking. It was also something that can as easily be worn on a nice autumn day as a night out of town. Nothing too formal. Just the perfect level between casual and nice that she was looking for.

'-

Maggie Edelstein has heard of Tom Riddle.

It was the same way she knew about the Abbott twins and the same way she knew about this generation's members of the Black family. The school was an endless font of gossip if you knew who to ask, and sometimes the students are just too interesting.

Yet for all his high profile, Tom Riddle remains a bit of a mystery. Academically gifted, helpful towards the professors and practically the perfect student…the picture it presented was too flawless, too curated. She knew it was probably just because he was another Slytherin with enough cunning to manage his image, but it didn't mean that she wasn't curious about what his true self (or truer self, at any rate,) was like.

"So, what is Riddle actually like in person?" Nurse Edelstein asked as she watched her young charge purse her lips in contemplation about the collar of the dresses. She realised that Hermione Curie's life was probably filled with tragedy, but must someone so young look so serious all the time?

"He is brilliant," Hermione started with, her lips curving upwards slightly as she said this. It was clear that she thought it was enough. Maggie sent her a disappointed look. The brunette sighed and continued. "His confidence sometimes slips too easily into arrogance. At some level, I'm sure he's narcissistic."

Maggie's brows furrowed slightly.

"Why does he sound more annoying the more you describe him?"

"Because I know he's pretty to look at, but I'm not blindly besotted?" The student's voice was dry. Maggie huffed.

"Hermione darling, you're taking the fun out of this game!"

The witch had the temerity to chuckle, as usual. "You wish to hear more of his good side, then? Fine, I can do that too. He moves with a purpose. He does not idle or dwell in doubt. You can see ambition powering him and be certain that whatever he wants, he will get. Happy would be the witch that he decides deserve the world."

"Many Slytherins are ambitious," the nurse pointed out.

"Maybe," Hermione nodded in easy agreement. "But I'm sure none had the perfect combination of sheer brilliance, charm and ambition that Tom Riddle has."

Maggie's hazel eyes were scrutinised the young patient more intensely than before. She made the statements with the easy certainty of one who knew they were true beyond doubt. Yet it was not the snap-judgment of a shallow crush—Hermione had amply demonstrated her acknowledgment of his flaws earlier. The young witch was confident that she'd had a good measure of Tom Riddle's character.

How? And just as importantly, why?

"What exactly did you speak with him about?"

She shrugged, her tight brown curls bouncing with the movement. It was actually cute. "Oh, the usual. Books."

"Books?"

"Yes. He saw me borrowing your Cook's Encyclopaedia, you see. So, that was how we started talking about herbs." She said, almost flippant. Maggie couldn't believe that Hermione caught all that about Tom Riddle just talking about herbs.

"I think you're skipping over a few important things there." The Nurse said through narrowed eyes.

"I might be."

"Hermione,"

The brunette gave a knowing sideways glance from underneath her eyelashes, her lips full with many unsaid secrets akin to her mysterious life before Hogwarts. It was these little things that made her seem older. Maggie thought with not a little fondness that she was going to cut a swathe through young men in the school and not even realise it. "You can find out many things when you're talking about herbs, you know. Especially when he says, and I quote, 'You will never be average, Miss Curie.'"

Her brows rose at that, as she couldn't help but be bemused. "Ah, you've managed to impress him."

Hermione's smile was impish as she shrugged again. "Oh, I don't know. I wasn't even trying."

Nurse Edelstein picked up one of the crumpled parchments on the bed and threw it at Hermione's face, ignoring her high-pitched yelp. She had the childish glee of seeing the transfer student finally acting immature.

"Cocky, aren't you?"

"Well, apparently something worked. Why shouldn't I just savour the feel of something going right?" The brunette asked.

Maggie immediately spoke up before Hermione could dwell on it too much. She'd taken it as her personal mission to distract the poor girl.

"Does that mean you're not going to try too hard?"

"Well, it's not a ball, but it doesn't mean I won't do my best to look decent." Hermione insisted. "I can't look worse than him. That's like starting chess with only half the pawns."

At the very least, she had already known that Hermione was competitive.

"Don't worry. I'll hide out in the supply room and then listen to your commentary afterwards."

'-

"Your books, Miss Curie."

"Thanks, but I have no idea where to place them."

He was helpful, she had to give him that. The moment their polite greetings were done, Tom Riddle had assessed the side table and a faint line grew on his brow. Apparently, the side table was dismissed under grounds of inadequacy. He shifted the screen to her right away from her bed, and then placed the spare bed on that side right next to hers. He laid the library books there. With a rather complicated wand movement, the bed was transformed into a short bookshelf. It was just the right height for someone on the bed to use.

"Now you do. You would have to be careful and avoid casting finite anywhere near it, but it will serve."

"That's amazing," it came out breathier than she'd liked. Still, Hermione wasn't lying—that was some fine spellwork, especially the height adjustment factor. She had a feeling that if the bed was of a different height, the height of the shelves would follow. If she could detect the slightest smugness in his polite smile, she wasn't going to call him out on it. She was that interested.

"Where did you find the spell?"

"It'll take a while for me to find the book, but I'm sure I can teach you myself."

"I'll hold you to that," Hermione said, ignoring his surprise easily. "Ah, where are my manners! Please, sit and rest for a while after lugging around all those books here. It must be annoying to have to run errands like that."

She changed her usual visitor's chair into a wing-back chair while he murmured something polite about how it wasn't a problem at all. She chose dark green for the new chair's leather. To his credit, when she gave him a dry, unconvinced look for those pleasantries, he did return it with an amused smile that was more genuine.

Wait, it wasn't exactly a genuine smile. It was more of a genuine smirk.

"Well, your company is interesting."

"Why, thank you."

He did not hide his appraising glance as the spell finished and he sat down on the chair. Hermione used a modified Accio to first pull the food trolley towards her at normal speed across the floor before she manually summoned the tray with tea and cakes there.

They landed on the footed tray over her thighs as light as a feather.

She knew he was watching her wand under hooded eyes, with occasional glimpses sent her way. Spells that require fine control like these were more finesse than brute magical power, and she had dexterity in spades. It wasn't a problem even for her recovering self.

He took his tea with a spot of milk, and she had begun to memorise it out of habit, the way she did for people she frequently had tea with. Hers was slightly more liberal with the milk and sugar, and she endured the good-natured ribbing about how she was drowning out all the tea's flavour as she offered him the cakes and took the ones she wanted.

"I have heard all arguments on it before and I stand my ground. This is the perfect way to drink tea. In fact, I think you're not adventurous enough," she insisted with mock seriousness. "My drawing room, my rules."

"As the lady wishes." His reply was edging between polite and dry.

If she wasn't used to having Slytherin friends who can use words to wound as easily as a dagger, she wouldn't notice.

But she did, and Hermione couldn't help but chuckle. It was probably all those times of being a perfect student in front of Slughorn that sharpened his passive-aggressive edge. Not that she cared if he let it flare once in a while.

"I'm sorry, it's just… Please tell me when I'm being a dictator. My friends say I'm bossy and they tend to help me rein that side in."

"You have been the perfect host," he assured her, but he did not deny her claims. "I just have one question."

She placed her cup down. "Yes?"

"Who attacked you?"

Her jaws tightened as she looked down. Was she defending the Department of Mysteries, room from room, perhaps with Malina or Luna? No, her gut feeling told her that it wasn't it. She had not been with both of them. Was she with Ron and Harry on a major raid, like that one where Daphne joined in? No, something still felt slightly off either.

"I'm sorry, if I'm too forward—"

Tom Riddle's voice cut through the haze of confusion. She met his gaze, her eyes dry, and shook her head. His statement was said out of sheer politeness, she could see that, but Hermione didn't care whether he actually cared or not. He was already interested in her mystery, she could tell. Knowing his stubbornness and intelligence, she wouldn't mind if he might somehow find the clues before she could.

"It's alright. It's just…my memories. They're not all there. The attack, for example. I can't remember how the attack happened. Is it a straight-on fight? Is it an ambush? Was I kidnapped from my bed in the middle of the night? There's no memory. No gut feeling or emotional reaction to one idea or the other. How many people did I leave behind? How many people I might fail to save?" She could feel her voice rising and she stopped before she started yelling at the budding dark lord. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, once, twice, before she opened her eyes again.

He didn't manage to successfully hide the glimmer of his disappointment before he was once more looking appropriately sympathetic.

Hermione couldn't help it. She tried, truly tried to hold it back. Yet the absurdity of trying to be friends with Tom Riddle, no matter how casually and accidentally, and having tea with a budding dark lord hit her in full right then.

She laughed. It was not an elegant tittering by any means. She didn't let it go on for long, but she had laughed freely without much cares all the same.

"It's alright, Mr. Riddle," she said, before he could say anything, still smiling at him. "I know I wasn't any useful to you, you don't need to hide your disappointment at that. I am even more interested than you are to find out how one can apparate into Hogwarts."

He seemed to have decided to ignore her breach of propriety for now, but there was an increased awareness in his eyes. A hunter concerned that a beast might be unpredictable.

"No one can apparate into Hogwarts. The wards would not allow it."

"And yet the very first clear memory I have after the attack is waking up at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. My wounds are such that I'm sure I could not have walked all the way there from the entrance, while the ground around me is undisturbed that it could not be the location of a fight. My conclusion? I was dropped there."

She watched the interest quietly flare back into life in his eyes, the reluctant acknowledgement that he could find no fault in her arguments.

"I've also read parts of Hogwarts: A History, and I know it's not possible to apparate on Hogwarts' grounds. But the question of my arrival remains. It's even more ludicrous if we suppose that it was a portkey—it would imply that someone had entered Hogwarts sometime before and left it in the forest, unnoticed." Hermione sighed.

"If they were someone trying to save you, why leave the portkey in the forest instead of entrusting it to Dumbledore? If it was someone trying to harm you—well, that's the second most idiotic thing they could do." Tom concluded.

She nodded, before realizing what he'd said.

"What's the most idiotic thing they could do?"

"To leave you at St. Mungo's with a note of apology pinned on your clothes." He stated flatly.

Hermione let out a surprised chuckle, unexpectedly appreciating his biting sense of humour. She thought she could see glimpses of the same half-wondering expression on his face before he tuned them out, as if he'd never thought her company could be something not moronic.

"So, I would like to be able to track down who did it and make them pay, but unfortunately, I've told you most of what I know about it. It's not much, is it?"

His blue eyes were fixed on hers.

"You will 'make them pay'? Indulging in vigilantism, is it, Miss Curie?" It sounded like concern, like a patronising almost-advice given to a weak-minded female and probably reflective of the era. Yet his eyes didn't reflect the words at all, dark and endless. It did not scare her.

It made her smile.

"Well, I'm sure if the Aurors can make them pay, I'll turn them in."

"If, you say?" He leaned forward.

Hermione poured them both more tea, her more ordered curls slipping over her left shoulder as she did so. She did his tea the way she'd just memorised and did hers to her own preference.

"Oh, you know how it is. Sometimes, some cases slip through the cracks, or the government had cut the law enforcement's budget again, or, I don't know, maybe a foreign power has placed a puppet as the head of the government." The Wizarding Wireless allowed her to listen to European news, and she followed news about her hypothetical origin country Norway with interest. Well, sometimes the news just made her want to rage (Quisling should just go jump off a cliff), but her curiosity got the better of her.

Her smile was still the one perfect for tea parties that Daphne had imparted to her. Her eyes were as unemotional as glass, and just as suited to a high society party as a result.

"Sometimes, the law needs a little helping hand, don't you think?"

'-

It would be easy to play the dutiful student once more, never neglecting her classes or any of her other responsibilities. She still had a rough memory of how the old Hermione was like, and it was no hardship to become her once more. Yet that young woman that she was once was also painfully naïve, blind in some ways to how the world worked.

She'd had enough secrets already, things she couldn't tell to anyone else at the risk of being thought crazy.

Hermione didn't care if one of the people who would see her quirks ended up being Tom Riddle. She really didn't want to be the good student a lot more often than necessary, and once she was healthy enough to attend classes regularly, she was sure that she wouldn't hide who she was from the other students as well. His opinion of her had been carefully changing from just 'unknown stellar student' into something decidedly stranger throughout their tea, and she was just waiting for him to react.

"The law is there for a reason, Miss Curie." His reply was kind.

There. There goes his opening salvo. Ever the voice of reason, the good prefect, aren't you, Mr. Riddle? She hid her smile.

"Of course. The rules are there for a reason, but sometimes they do get in the way of doing what's right, what's decent," she replied nonchalantly. Young Hermione was going to get a heart attack about what she was saying, but well, she'd changed, hadn't she? What was the use of following the rules in a school run by the Carrows? Would she stay back at the great hall now if she heard that a troll, a basilisk ran loose?

No. Just…no, with extreme prejudice. She'd actually had enough skills to take care of it and she'd certainly set out to do so. She'd really rather get more people to stay alive than stick to an inflexible set of rules.

"I do think that it's important the we don't kill people willy-nilly, that it's bad, and that hurting people is also bad. Those rules are there for a reason. But sometimes, it's a friend who wants to buy a birthday present for his girlfriend, and maybe he'd really forgotten it until the last minute. What's the harm in accompanying him to the owlery past curfew to send an owl-order?"

"As a prefect, I'm afraid I'd have to disagree with your decision."

For all his textbook reply, Tom's expression as he said this was knowing.

Hermione allowed a small smile to rise. "I know. I'll be serious in watching out the rule breakers if I was a prefect as well. It would be my responsibility, after all. It would also serve the sloppiest of them to either start getting subtler or stop sneaking out after curfew. Incompetent rule breaking is just embarrassing in its lack of common sense. It's better that they're stopped now and that they learn their lesson before they move to something bigger only to fail spectacularly."

"It would be a public service to teach them, really. Who knows how many people they'll drag down with them when they go down if they're not careful?" She insisted.

Like trying to be a mad dark lord. The actions of one just boggles common sense.

She sipped her tea. "So, the general principle would be the same. I wouldn't be enforcing harshly the sorts of rules that has too many different applications."

"So, now we know what type of prefect you'd be," he mused.

"My deepest secrets," she said sarcastically, one hand laid upon her brow. "I'm afraid my chances would be ruined if you leak them to the head girl. I beg you to keep this to yourself."

She got a snort out of him and Hermione stared Tom Riddle for another two seconds. That was…she'd managed to make him do something so inelegant. It had to be some sort of weird achievement—probably the sort of thing that would earn her the ire of his admirers.

Hermione paused, considering something.

Well, why not? Why shouldn't she make him that offer?

"Suppose that the people responsible for attacking me, for attacking my friends and family are found. If it turned out that the law cannot reach them… would you mind terribly accompanying me on a hunt?"

She had gracefully elided on the exact nature of the hunt, but it wasn't hard to miss for someone as sharp as Riddle.

It was also a convenient test. The secret wasn't anything significant that she risked losing (as if she even knew who attacked her, or whether they were from this time), yet it allowed her to show him a part of her true nature. She was not harmless, and she'd pursue justice for people she knew even when the legal means have failed. If he'd ever seriously considered going full-on, mad dark lord now, he'd be aware that she'd also be there to go after him.

It doubled as a convenient stealth warning too.

"Vigilantism is not condoned by the Ministry of Magic, Miss Curie." His tone was mildly disapproving. A careful observation told her that no emotion of any sort touched his dark blue eyes. Hermione solemnly nodded in agreement, even if she couldn't always control the amused twitch of her lips.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle."

"With that said, I think any friend of yours would not mind accompanying you on a hunt."

She nodded. "Thank you for your advice."

'-

On the second day that Hogwarts' mysterious transfer student had arrived after she had been mysteriously attacked, Professor Slughorn sought him out.

It was an annoyance, of course, as it required him to take a detour from his day-to-day routine. What Tom Riddle did was to smile at Slughorn at the request, before assuring his Head of House that it would be done and he need not concern himself with it. He wondered whether she was as special as Slughorn seemed to think she was, but what he said was to ask about her academic records, how challenging her previous school was, and the like.

Because Tom Riddle the Responsible Prefect would certainly worry about whether a fellow student would be able to keep up with classes if she was about to be bedridden for a while.

Slughorn, however, did the unexpected thing of drawing him back to his office and invited him over. He started a kettle once he was there to prepare tea. Tom went to one of the cupboards to ready the cups and teapot himself because he already knew where they are, accepting Slughorn's quick thanks easily.

"She's clever, Tom. So, very clever! The child of British expatriates born in London, she'd already taken the Norwegian equivalent of OWLs and passed with flying colours! She insisted on knowing how bad her wounds are, and it was clear that she'd studied not a little medicine."

Tom did his best not to let his brows rise far, but apparently Slughorn saw it still the same.

"No, it's true. She had already guessed that her kidneys were bruised from the dull pain she felt when she arrived, and that it wasn't much better yet because she can still see blood in her urine."

Not a squeamish miss, he surmised with a modicum of respect. Perhaps she would not be a complete bore either. Slughorn, however, seemed to have lost his enthusiasm at this point, his gaze distant.

"But then, we have to keep in mind the saddest truth about her, Tom."

Tom's brows creased slightly; his confusion wasn't faked. Slughorn turned to him again.

"The only reason she'd gotten quite a grounding in the medical arts at her age is most probably the same reason that Albus and I had to stabilise her condition when she first came to us. She had been badly attacked by dark magic back then." He paused, his usually easy expression uncommonly grave.

"I have no doubt that she had been in the middle of a war for a while. I know I might sound preposterous of me, Tom, but please, I need to hear your assurance. It might just be the worry of an old man. Please do your utmost care that she feels comfortable and safe at Hogwarts."

Tom nodded. The seriousness of the request really allowed for no other socially-acceptable reply.

"Of course, Professor. I'll be very careful."

"Thank you. Who knows, she might be more inclined towards Slytherin House to choose it as hers when the time comes! Ha! Especially if she found you so charming!"

Tom ducked in faux-embarrassment because he couldn't help but smirk as Slughorn's ambition came to the fore again. There was the Head of Slytherin that he was familiar with. His previous comments on caring and concern was mildly annoying because Tom couldn't quite fathom the reason why, and this return to his old habits was comfortable. They talked a little more over tea, Slughorn feeling no compunction at all at divulging her scores because he knew Tom would not gossip about it.

"It's not as if the dear girl had anything to be embarrassed about—a perfect set of scores! Why, if I was her father, I'd shout it to the rafters. In fact, I'll do it myself once she's out of the infirmary and we can talk with her over tea. I consider myself a guardian of hers, because did you know that she was orphaned by the war? It's such terrible shame.' Slughorn prattled.

Tom's smile had become a little more fixed at this point. A perfect set of scores? What a pitiful orphan? Such a nice girl? Why does that sound familiar?

Why, certainly. Because that is the persona that he wore like a second skin right now.

He truly needed to see her personally and take her measure. He will have to find her idiosyncrasies, her loves, her hates, and weave a web out of them. The more he heard about her that seemed to pile up into this image of a nice, brilliant girl who loves to learn with an unfortunate fate hanging over her, the more concerned he was that she was another viper slinking into the nest.

There was only enough space for one, after all.

'-

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End Notes:

List of Stuff One Might Try to Look Up:

Crinoline: (history, fashion), a stiff underskirt or petticoat with a bell shape worn under a full skirt to expand its shape. Can also mean a hoop skirt.

Quisling, Vidkun: (history, Norway) Norwegian politician who lead the Nazi collaborator government after the German invaded Norway in 1940. By this year (1942) on the 13th of March, he restored the old "Jewish paragraph" in the Norwegian constitution (it says that Jews were forbidden to enter or settle in Norway). Note that this paragraph was already abolished in 1851.

There was, of course, the Norwegian Government-in-Exile in London, led by King Haakon VII and Prime Minister Johan Nygaardsvold.

'-